


Cadaverous Pallor

by KrisseyCrystal (AisukuriMuStudio)



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Ghost Mikleo, Ghosts, Haunted Houses, M/M, TV Show Host Sorey, Woops, only to find it out is very much haunted, or in which Sorey is about to do a bit about the historical Camlann estate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2018-12-13 20:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11767839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AisukuriMuStudio/pseuds/KrisseyCrystal
Summary: Sorey's a charismatic TV show host. He explores places of historical significance and shares their stories with the world, and he loves his job. He's fairly good at it. He's been doing it on his own, even without professional funding, since he was in college.He just doesn't expect the manor he's planning to film next to be extremely haunted--not by such a cute ghost, at least.





	1. When the Crypt Doors Creak

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not have ridden the "Haunted Mansion" ride at Disneyland and thought this up while listening to some good ol' grim grinning ghosts.
> 
> I've been simply _dying_ to write it since.

* * *

_When hinges creak in doorless chambers,_  
_And strange and frightening sounds echo through the halls,_  
 _Whenever candelights flicker,_  
 _Where the air is deathly still,_  
 _That is the time when ghosts are present,_  
 _Practicing their terror with ghoulish delight._

\- “The Haunted Mansion," Foyer Narration

* * *

“Wait, back up, sorry—who did you say you were?”

The bright-eyed brunet laughed, leaning back. His grin split his face a mile-wide as he threw one arm over the back of his chair. He had to his form a handsome charisma that even Rose grudgingly would admit was attractive as he sat there in the middle of a random restaurant in Ladylake. “My name’s Sorey. Sorry, I guess sometimes I forget not everyone watches my show.”

Lucas chuckled. “I don’t watch that much TV anyway.” The waiter shifted his weight as he surveyed the table of three before him:  a young woman with her blonde hair pulled tight to the side of her head and another young woman with bright red hair that barely brushed her shoulders sat across from the one who had identified himself as ‘Sorey.’ He placed a hand to his waist. “Are you all on this show? This…’History Hunters’ thing?”

The redhead laughed. “Oh, _gosh_ , no…!” Her nose scrunched up and jerked a thumb in Sorey’s direction. “Are you kidding me? I don’t know _shit_ about history! That’s all _this_ nerd.”

Sorey flushed politely. He raised a hand to scratch the back of his head. “Don’t listen to Rose. It’s not _all_ me. We have guest stars and speakers on the show sometimes, and they know a lot, too. It’s more like a collaboration, I think, than just me talking to the camera.”

The girl named Rose lifted a hand to shield her mouth from Sorey’s view. “It’s pretty much just Sorey talking to the camera.”

The blonde at their table giggled as Sorey’s face turned a deeper red.

“N-no, it’s not! People wouldn’t _watch_ the show if it was just _me_!” he scrambled to claim. He turned back to his food and stuffed a fry in his mouth.

Rose waved a hand. “ _Relax._ You’re the _reason_ people watch it, ya dummy.” With a sneaky grin, she reached over to Sorey’s plate and snatched one of his fries to stuff in her mouth before he could stop her. She said, “Ain’t that right, Alisha?”

The other young woman smiled. She turned her pale green eyes to Lucas, and for a moment, the waiter was struck by just how _mature_ a set of emeralds could look on so young a face. “Well, the show’s ratings weren’t doing too well until Sorey came along, I must admit. Our last host just didn’t have the same energy that he does.”

The redhead named Rose snickered. “ _Nobody_ has the same energy Sorey does.”

“I can’t tell if that’s an insult or a compliment…”

Rose stole another fry before Sorey could smack her hand away. “For you? Everything’s a compliment. _Even_ if it’s an insult.”

Lucas shook his head; a smile was fighting its way onto his face even as he stood there, looking at the table he was supposed to just be checking on. But it was a slow time of day in the lull between the lunch and dinner rushes; what the hell. He could humor these guys for a minute or two more, right? “So what brings your crew into Ladylake, then? Going to do a bit about the Sanctuary?”

“We’ve already done one, actually,” Sorey said with a bright grin. Rose took the opportunity of his turned head to grab another fry again. Alisha hissed to her in reprimand. “I’d be lying, though, if I said I wouldn’t want to do another episode there.”

Rose shook her head, chomping on her stolen food with pride. “Nah. We’re not here for the Sanctuary.” She turned to Lucas and grinned. “Ever heard of the Camlann estate?”

“Oh.” Lucas’ response was short, curt. All three pairs of eyes were on him immediately. He sighed and reached up a hand to scratch at his chin. “Yeah…yeah, I have. I think you’ll find most Ladylake locals have, too, if you ask around.”

“Really?” Sorey’s own green eyes, earthy and less ethereal than Alisha’s own, brightened considerably. “What can you tell us about it? I’m just _dying_ to see it—!”

“—that’s a funny choice of words—“

“—I heard that the guy that restored the place tried to return the mansion to what it would have looked like during its prime, y’know, over two hundred years ago—before it was burned down!” Sorey’s grin didn’t dim as he rattled. “All of that gorgeous Elysian architecture and stonework…!”

Lucas made a soft sound in his throat, something like a scoff and a bit-off laugh. “Yeah, well. Did you also hear that the man who restored the estate _died_ there?”

A chilling quiet swept over the table.

“What.” The word that came from Rose was something between a question and a statement. Lucas decided to count it as both.

“That’s awful,” Alisha murmured, her voice turned soft.

Of the three, Sorey was the one who looked the least surprised. He had a thin set to his mouth and a disquiet in his eyes that spoke of knowing sympathy. “He wouldn’t be the only one. The Camlann estate has seen a lot of death:  they say the entire household of the family that lived there perished in the fire that burned it down over two hundred years ago, too.”

Lucas nodded. “Yeah. And that’s just the start of it.” He shifted his weight as he spoke, moving his serving tray from one hip to the other idly. “Word in town is that the place is one of the most haunted around here. So if you’re really planning on goin’ in…well. I’d be careful, if I were you.”

Rose’s spine snapped straight. Her blue eyes lit on the young man across from her, daggers fierce in their depths. “Wait, _what_? A-are you serious?! Sorey, what the hell—did you _know_ about this?!”

Sorey shook his head. “No! I mean, I knew that people _died_ there, but I didn’t think it would be _haunted_ —“

“—uh, no _duh,_ Mr. History Genius; dead people in giant mansions always equals _ghosts_! How come everyone seems to know this but you?!” Rose stood up. “Ugh, okay, you know what? Forget this shit. Sorry, Sorey, but we’re not doing the estate anymore.”

“What?” Sorey gaped at her.

Alisha winced.

“You heard me!” Rose pointed a finger at the TV host, and Lucas suddenly received the feeling he had unknowingly triggered something that maybe he should not have. “We’re not. Doing. The estate.”

“But—“

“—That’s it. No. Done. End of discussion. Pick a different historical joint you love so much and we’ll go there, first thing in the morning; I promise. But we’re not stickin’ around for a haunted mansion. Sorry, but no. That’s not our type of show.”

Sorey’s mouth flapped open and shut uselessly. “But—but _Camlann_ —“

“—has a lot of important history to talk about, I’m sure.” Rose nodded to something he hadn’t even said. She gathered her jacket and slipped it around her shoulders. “And if you want to stay and try to film it on your own, be my guest; just know that this driver of yours is leaving with her van and your crew, at like, the ass-crack of dawn, so. Make your choice.”

Alisha sighed. Her hands fell to her lap. “Rose, we need to at least give the estate a _chance_.”

“Yeah, well. _You_ can give it a chance, but I’m not. I ain’t gettin’ anywhere near that place.” She slipped her purse over her shoulder and pointed a finger at the blonde. “And you can’t make me. I’ll sleep on the couch if I have to, babe, but I’m _not_ going to that mansion. Sorry.”

Exasperation crossed over Alisha’s face. “Rose—“

The redhead quickly turned away. “See ya back at the hotel!” she said and then she was gone, weaving around empty tables and chairs as she made her way out of the restaurant and into the mid-afternoon sun.

Alisha watched her go.

After a moment’s pause and with a frown tight on her face, Alisha bent to grab her purse and jacket. “I should go after her, just to make sure she isn’t _actually_ planning on leaving us.” Her gaze flickered to Sorey briefly as she murmured, “You have one of the company cards, right? Use that to pay for the meal.” She bowed to Lucas. “Excuse me; I’m terribly sorry for my untimely departure.”

Lucas chuckled and waved a hand. “You don’t have to apologize to _me._ You’re still paying, after all.”

Alisha threw him a small smile before she left.

In the silence afterwards, now alone at the table, Sorey shifted in his seat awkwardly. He picked up a small fry.

Lucas sighed. “Look, sorry about whole the estate-thing. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Sorey blinked and looked to the waiter. “What do you mean?”

Lucas stepped forward to begin clearing the table of the abandoned plates, glasses, and silverware. His gaze flickered to the young man who watched him work. “Well, it’s over, now, right? If that young lady’s calling it off, that probably means you won’t be able to get to Camlann and do your history-talk thing, yeah?”

The young TV host hummed thoughtfully. His green eyes turned away to some unfixed point on the adjacent wall. He picked up another fry. “Eh, maybe,” he said quietly—too quietly for Lucas to feel completely comfortable about it.

The waiter shook his head. “Well, _whatever_ you do, be careful, all right? For real. That place is no joke. People have died there. Watch yourself.”

Sorey turned to Lucas. The grin on his face was a mile-wide once more. “Don’t worry. I work with artifacts and historical ruins for a living. ‘Being careful’ is my middle name!”

Somehow, though he had only known the young man for half an hour at most, Lucas was afraid he’d say that.

* * *

“Woops.”

Sorey watched with wide, green eyes as one of the double-doors to the estate slowly swung open. It was a gorgeous, dark oak, he noted, with black metal hinges and spades plated to the side of it. His forehead still throbbed from where he had come into contact with its hard surface—right in the center where he supposed, usually, there was supposed to be a window.

He raised his free hand to his brow and winced. “What did I even trip on…?” he breathed to himself and turned to look down at the porch steps he had just came up.

Seeing nothing protruding from the stone that would be out of the ordinary, Sorey frowned. He turned back to the half-opened door and what he could see of the entryway beyond it, dimly lit by the late-afternoon sun.

He took a moment to collect himself and raised his other hand, fingers wrapped tight around his handheld camcorder. He hadn’t used it in years, not since he became a professional TV show host. Pulling it out and making use of it like he used to in his blogging days brought him an unexpected sense of nostalgia.

Sorey felt like an amateur anthropology and history university student scouting out historical sites and ignoring ‘DO NOT TRESSPASS’ signs all over again.

He turned the screen around to view himself. For a moment, he did nothing but practice his trademark grin, watching in the image feed the way his eyes crinkled at the edges with each try. He had to admit:  he did look incredibly different on a personal camera rather than the professional ones the Talfryn twins filmed him with. Sorey wasn’t quite sure yet whether that would be a good or a bad thing.

Finally, he straightened up and nodded to his reflection. He pressed the red button labeled ‘record.’

“Hey everybody!” Sorey greeted to the lens with a wave and smile. “Wow, this is…awkward doing this by myself after all this time—“

He quickly pressed the stop button and winced. He shook his head. “C’mon, Sorey. That’s no way to start the show.” He rewound through the few seconds he had just recorded. He readied himself to start over. “Okay. You can do this. Just do what you normally do.”

Sorey cleared his throat.

His eyes flickered to a window to the right of the door.

For a moment, his heart forgot how to beat. For a moment, it was almost funny, because just for a moment he could have sworn he just saw something move past that dusty glass and back into the obscured shadow of the ornate brick house.

Sorey watched it for a second more.

When nothing happened, he shook his head. “Must’ve just been the curtain,” he murmured. He steadied the camera in his hand. “Okay. Here we go!” Sorey puffed out his chest and took a great inhale. “ _History Hunters_ , episode one hundred and seventeen! Take two.”

There—he could almost hear the clack of the clapperboard that Rose liked to use when one of the Talfryn twins had their hands full with the cameras.

For some reason, that calmed him.

“Hey everybody!” he greeted to the screen with a red dot slowly blinking in the corner. “It’s your friend Sorey here, bringing you an exclusive, extra-special episode of _History Hunters_! Today, we’re going to finally explore the beautiful, tragic, and most mysterious Camlann estate!”

He turned the camera around to view the open front door. He spun the image feed to face him again, watching carefully, as he began his narration.

“Now, what you see before you isn’t the same Camlann that first existed over two hundred years ago,” he started, making sure to guide the camera so it took in the whole, ornately-carved stone doorway. Two unlit metal lanterns hung from either side of the double-door entrance. He made sure to film those, too, as he spoke. “This Camlann, standing in the exact same spot as the original estate, was restored and modeled as much as possible to the original mansion by a man named Runaaru Lunarre. He was a little like me, you could say:  a guy obsessed with history. At least _he_ had enough money to do something about it, haha.”

Sorey stepped towards the front door, already ajar, and reached out a hand to press it open. It swung away slowly with a long creak.

“A-anyway…” For a moment, Sorey had to remember just what it was he had been going to say. It completely slipped his mind. All he could think as he stared into the dark and shadowed interior of the foyer of the infamous Camlann mansion was that it was _creepy._ With the dark red rug lining the wooden floor and the spider webs stretching across the upper corners of the hall, Sorey began to understand why Lucas had given him such caution, over and over again, about this place.

Boy, was he glad the sun was still up behind him. For a little while longer, at least.

“Anyway,” he started again and stepped inside. “About fifty years ago, or so, Lunarre had the place rebuilt. He tried to match the original brick on the exterior, as well as the wallpaper and carpet and furniture on the interior, to make it all like it originally had been, when it first received all of its fame.”

Sorey guided the camera to note the thin table pressed against the wall with fake flowers in a ceramic vase. There were other, rusted fake-gold knickknacks decorating its dusty surface.

Just above the small entryway table sat a golden-framed picture hanging on the wall. Sorey lifted his camcorder to view it as he, too, admired the illustration of a young boy, moon-faced and barely smiling. He had striking lavender eyes and glowing, ethereal, pale hair.

“As you can—uh—see,” Sorey muttered, committing the painting to memory. He would have to double-check his own sources later tonight to see who that was a portrait of. There were rumors that the sole heir (after Michael, of course) of the Rulay estate had hair ‘as soft as clouds’ and eyes like ‘amethysts.’ He couldn’t remember the young man’s name at the moment, but he would find it, for sure. Later. “He had to take some creative liberties in some places where we simply don’t have record of what the house actually looked like inside. But things like this, a portrait of what may be the infamous Michael Rulay’s nephew, tell me that Lunarre really did do his best to bring the mansion back to its old glamour. I can admire that in a guy.”

A sound—so soft, it could have been mistaken for his own breath except Sorey was _pretty_ sure he didn’t laugh right then—came from somewhere behind him.

Sorey spun around, eyes wide. The camera turned with him.

Nothing.

Strange. He could have sworn there was someone…

He swallowed. “Uh, unfortunately, despite all of Lunarre’s hard work, we’ll probably never get the chance to see Camlann as it originally was. That fire I mentioned earlier…?”

Sorey stepped further into the hallway, slowly and carefully. Down to where it opened up into a great hall with a grand staircase on the far side of the marble-tiled floor. His breath caught in his throat, his eyes lighting up. In the falling sun, the ballroom looked magnificent. “The—uh—the estate. It burned down over two hundred years ago in a tragedy that brought the entire household and the Rulay family who owned it to their deaths.”

Another sound—this time to the side of him. Almost like a hitched breath.

Sorey turned and brought the camera with him.

Still nothing out of the ordinary. Just the large windows and their heavy velvet drapes set against the wall.

…what was going on, here…? Was he just getting jumpy?

“It’s…kind of a sad story,” he admitted quietly. More carefully, Sorey walked forward and further into the vast ballroom. “There are no records or evidence that tell us why or how the fire was started. One day, the home of the infamous Michael Rulay was there. The next, it was all gone and burned away.”

For a moment, Sorey wondered if he should go up the stairs. His eyes flickered up the tempting carpeted steps; then he thought better of it. Not yet, anyway, he told himself. He moved past and to the door to the right. “Along with his whole family and household. Besides Michael himself, this would have included his sister and her son—who may be the one in that painting we saw earlier—and those who worked for the estate.”

He grasped the handle of the door and swung it open as he ducked his head inside. A kitchen greeted him, with an odd mesh of more familiar and dated appliances pressed against ancient décor. The room looked half-finished, like Lunarre had still been in the process of restoring the room and filling it in with livable means when he abandoned the project.

Sorey stepped fully into the kitchen as he continued, slowly panning the camera around. His feet stepped carefully on checkerboard-tiled floor. “Although there is not a definitive record or number for the amount of people who were staffed at Camlann, we know that there was a butler who also acted as the head of the house, a governess for Michael’s nephew, a cook, a housekeeper, and a head gardener. If we assume that all of these people were all present and then died in the fire, then that would make it a grand total of—“

Sorey cut himself off. His green eyes widened.

He licked his lips as he found his voice go hoarse.

“—of…eight…deaths. Right h-here. Where I’m standing.”

On the wall to his left, just above what he could assume was an oven under a blanket of canvas, Sorey could see a red, curled handwriting pressed against the wall.

It was fresh, still dripping.

“Whoa…” Sorey breathed.

Letters that he could see, illuminated by his camcorder’s light and the setting sun seeping in through the kitchen window from outside, clearly spelled out two words, scrawled in an angry print:

‘GET OUT.’


	2. And the Tombstones Quake

There were rules and expectations that had been placed upon Mikleo’s life for as long as he could remember, even before he died. Don’t go too far from the Seal; don’t touch the Seal; don’t interact with any of the evil spirits who were also trapped because of the Seal. And perhaps most important above all of those:  don’t disobey Zenrus.

Lately, however, Mikleo couldn’t help but notice that ‘don’t disobey Zenrus’ somehow had also morphed into ‘don’t question Zenrus.’ As one of the youngest spirits there at the estate, however, he figured he was one of those with the least authority to bother with that rule.

So when Zenrus called for him and said, “There’s a human who has entered our domain. You should see to it that he leaves,” Mikleo didn’t question that, either.

He went to where he had been instructed to go, and found the human wandering the entryway of the estate. Mikleo found it curious that the young man was talking out loud, even though he was very obviously alone. He held a fancy contraption in his hand, angled out like it was a friend he was showing the mansion to. Perhaps it was the device the young man fancied he was having a conversation with?

Mikleo didn’t really have a care—except, for when those striking green eyes started staring at a replica of a portrait of his younger self—suddenly, he kind of did _._

“…but things like this,” the human was saying, soft and quiet and with a kind of wonder that Mikleo couldn’t help but feel flattered by, “a portrait of what may be the infamous Michael Rulay’s nephew, tell me that Lunarre really did do his best to bring the mansion back to its old glamour.”

Was he…narrating something?

How did this stranger know of _him_ and who he was? Just how much did this foolish, bright-eyed human know about a place that had once been his home?

“I can admire that in a guy.”

Mikleo scoffed. He turned away. _Oh yes,_ he couldn’t help but think to himself, _because there is so very much to admire in that rat Lunarre._

The human’s head turned.

Mikleo, even though he _knew_ he couldn’t be seen, suddenly felt the chilling urge to flee, to hide. He backed away into the shadows, though he knew his form didn’t need to try to conceal itself. Why was he suddenly afraid? The human couldn’t hear him or see him...right?

So why did the young man suddenly turn around when Mikleo almost laughed?

Mikleo watched, careful and cautious, as the human continued his rambling. His voice was more uncertain than before. “Uh, unfortunately, despite all of Lunarre’s hard work, we’ll probably never get the chance to see Camlann as it originally was. That fire I mentioned earlier…?”

The storytelling continued, and if he were to be honest with himself, Mikleo would confess he was a little entranced by it. The sheer _knowledge_ that this human held over a place so alien to him—and a place that, on the other hand, Mikleo had known all of his life and death—was startling. Did other people know this much about them? About his uncle and Camlann? Even when he thought all of their stories would have been lost to time?

He followed the human as he wandered into the ballroom. The young man talked of the fire and everyone who died and at his own memory, Mikleo made a small sound.

Again, the human turned; but this time, Mikleo didn’t hide.

He stayed where he was, just a little to the right of him. And sure enough, those green eyes—inquisitive and kind and surely dangerous in their curiosity—passed right over him without seeing.

But he _had_ heard him, and that was the most amazing thing to Mikleo.

He _heard_ him.

“It’s…kind of a sad story,” the human said quietly, and Mikleo would agree. More carefully, the stranger walked forward and further into the ballroom. “There are no records or evidence that tell us why or how the fire was started. One day, the home of the infamous Michael Rulay was there. The next, it was all gone and burned away.”

Mikleo moved around the young man. He was here to do a job, not to stalk young and handsome strangers who didn’t know the dangers of the house they were invading.

He flittered to the kitchen. The human was headed in that direction; he could tell by the sound of his slow steps against marbled stone. That left him little time to prepare for a way to make the young man leave. Mikleo was fortunate that their last visitors had been a group of teenagers who had brought a paper bag of fast-food with them.

His message prepared after a brief moment’s struggle—the tight lid he kept on his emotions prevented him from being able to so easily affect the inanimate objects of the physical world as some of the other spirits could—he hung back and to the windows on the far wall of the kitchen. He waited.

Soon enough, the human entered. He continued to speak his careful narration, panning his electronic device around in a slow arc in front of him from right to left.

Mikleo could see the exact moment the brown-haired man saw his message.

He watched as those green eyes widened. He listened to the way the stranger’s voice dropped off. The young man gave a quiet and breathless, “Whoa…” which flattered Mikleo more than he would ever care to admit. Briefly, he wondered if the guy would run.

He didn’t.

“That’s so _cool_!”

To Mikleo’s surprise, the first thing the young man did was reach forward. He touched the sticky writing on the wall and lifted the red substance to the light his device emitted. He rubbed his fingertips against one another slowly, watching the way the liquid stretched and dripped down to his palm.

Then, he raised a finger and licked it.

He _licked._ It.

“Oh,” said the stranger. His eyes were still wide. “Ketchup.”

Mikleo grappled for words with a scene in front of him that didn’t make sense—in any era, month, year, or _day_.

“W-what?” he breathed. “What kind of _idiot_ —?”

The human turned again, eyes wide.

Mikleo, even though he was formless even though he knew his body was not the same as it had been two hundred years ago, raised his spectral hands to his mouth out of habit, as if that could somehow stop his essence from speaking.

The handheld contraption was swung from side to side again. Light fell into corners that were never meant to be seen. “Is…is someone there?” the stranger called.

Mikleo didn’t know what to do.

He really didn’t know what to do.

He moved away, quickly, backing up as he tried to think of another plan, some other way to get rid of this young man who was too _foolish_ to remember to be _afraid_. He made his way to the side; maybe if he moved to the other side of the kitchen he could write another message, something else that would be more convincing and would make him leave for sure this time. Would another threat work…?

Just as he passed the corner of the stranger’s eye, the human gasped.

Suddenly, that light from the strange machine he held in his hand fell in Mikleo’s exact direction.

Mikleo froze.

“H-hey wait…!” Those green eyes searched without completely seeing him. Mikleo let his hands fall away when the light once again panned from right to left. “Don’t go away! Is that you? Are you really a ghost? Can we talk? Please?”

What was there to talk about? Mikleo shifted further back and away while the stranger took a daring step forward.

“This is amazing,” the young man said. A grin stretched onto his face that made Mikleo think of sunshine and sky. “I had heard that this place was haunted, but I didn’t actually think—haha, oh man, Rose is gonna _kill_ me.”

_Not if the sun falls first._ Mikleo threw a glance to the nearest window. They still had some time left, but not hours at their disposal. He looked to the human again, who had yet again taken another step forward. He eased back.

“Are you still there?” the stranger called. “You…you _are_ a friendly ghost, aren’t you?”

Mikleo wasn’t sure if he’d call himself _that_. But he supposed as compared to some of the other inhabitants of this mansion, he might be. That was a strangely bolstering thought, though it probably didn’t take much to be considered friendlier than Edna.

The longer his silence went on, the more the hopeful smile on the stranger’s face began to wane.

Despite himself, Mikleo felt a small part of him ache at the sight. He watched as the human before him slowly turned forlorn, something in his expression reminding him of a kicked puppy.

He let go a low exhale.

There was a reason he had thought it strange Zenrus sent _him_ to send away an intruder and not another. For many reasons other than not being the strongest spirit in Camlann.

The human turned to the device in his hand. “Well. I guess I’ll have to cut all that ou—“

“—if I talk, will you leave?”

The head of mussy brown snapped up. It was perhaps a bit late to notice it, but something about the motion drew Mikleo’s attention to the bright orange feather ear-cuffs the human wore. They framed his face in a youthful way, bouncing with every nod.

He was nodding several times.

Green eyes searched very corner and wall aimlessly, still trying to see him with little success. “Whoa,” he laughed and Mikleo couldn’t help but immediately _like_ it. He liked the bright sound of such genuine joy. How long had it been since he last heard such a laugh? “This is really happening! This is—I—I mean, yes! Yeah, for sure! I—“ The human turned around to view the message still visible on the wall, slowly sliding down the backsplash. “—so you’re the one that wrote that, then? Is that right?”

Mikleo restrained an embarrassed sigh. “Yes. That was me.”

The stranger made an excited sound that might have been a cheer or an imitation of one of those newfangled cars revving. His hands lifted briefly in his excitement. Then he clearly remembered he was holding would likely break if it fell. “That’s _amazing_! This is _so cool_!”

“Yes,” Mikleo said again, and he wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, to someone who was so excited about the fact that he simply _existed_. “You’ve said that.”

“Did I?” The stranger’s face turned red. “Oh.” He gave another laugh, this one more subdued and self-conscious. “Sorry.”

“No, no…” Mikleo found himself saying, quick to correct him. “It’s…okay.”

And it was. Somehow.

The smile on the human’s face could have lit up _cities._

“What’s your name?”

Mikleo wasn’t sure if he should answer. He shifted, a habit he retained from his human days. “Tell me yours first. Then I will tell you mine.”

“Haha, okay, okay.” The stranger seemed to give up on trying to locate him; he stared at some unseen point beyond Mikleo’s actual form and didn’t move his gaze or his light from that spot as he spoke. “That’s only fair, I guess. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Friendly Ghost! I’m Sorey. Sorey Shepherd. And you are…?”

“Mikleo.” He took a breath he didn’t need. “Mikleo Rulay.”

A light turned on behind effervescent green eyes—a dawning realization of something. “No way,” the human named Sorey breathed.

The awed look was incredibly ego-boosting, Mikleo noted. He felt like smiling in return, soft and small. Perhaps Sorey’s joy was contagious, somehow; flattering. “Yes…’way.’”

“You’re Michael’s nephew,” Sorey breathed. “And that picture in the front hall, then! That’s of _you_!”

“Yes,” Mikleo confirmed, his voice thin and low. “A much younger me.”

“It’s a _great_ painting—“

“—it’s a _horrid_ painting.”

Sorey laughed. “What, do you not like it?”

“ _You_ try sitting for hours and hours on end as they paint your portrait, when all you want to do is go and play and maybe read a book or two.” Mikleo huffed and felt his spectral hands cross themselves over his non-existent chest. Funny the quite human traits that came out of him when face-to-face and conversing with another human for the first time in who knew how many years. “I _hated_ getting my portrait done.”

“Oh.” Sorey stifled another laugh behind his free hand. “Well, when you say it like _that…_ ”

Mikleo watched the human quietly; for some reason, he felt like humming. “Can I ask _you_ a question, then?”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

Sorey appeared to mull this over for a moment. Then he shrugged. “I don’t see why not. Shoot.”

“At what?”

“Huh?”

“I beg your pardon?”

For some reason, Sorey must have found this the funniest thing in the world. He laughed—and again, Mikleo was reminded how wonderful such open joy could sound. He eased into it; felt his hands fall away from his chest. His form might have changed color.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sorey tried to excuse himself. He waved his free hand. “That was my bad. It’s—it’s a thing. Never mind.” He cleared his throat, but his smile still remained. “Ask away.”

Mikleo, once again, wanted to smile in return. “Why are you here? What are you doing?”

“Oh! This?” Sorey seemed to suddenly remember the device in his hand. “I—um—I didn’t come out here to try and find ghosts, if that’s what you’re asking, haha.”

“It wasn’t,” Mikleo murmured. He hovered closer, curious. He both felt and heard the soft gasp and shiver Sorey gave as he moved over to him. He came to rest near the human’s arm. “What _did_ you come out here for? What’s that you are holding?”

“W-whoa…” Sorey’s green eyes grew round. “…you’re—right there, aren’t you?”

Mikleo couldn’t hide the amusement from his voice. “Yes. But you haven’t yet answered my question, Sorey.”

“Y-yeah,” Sorey said again, his voice suddenly wobbly. “Sorry! It’s just…so _weird_. Especially when you say my name like that.”

“Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“N-no.” Sorey shook his head quickly. “No. It doesn’t.” He cleared his throat again and bowed his head. Mikleo didn’t miss the way the human’s fingers tightened on his dark-metal contraption. “Um, so, the reason I’m here is because I’m a TV show host. I go to places that are like, really historically significant, and then I just kinda…talk about them.”

“So you travel around the world, then?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” Sorey’s face lit up and Mikleo felt an odd pleasure in having brought such happiness to the young man. “It’s the _best_ job ever. It’s taken me all sorts of places.”

“Like where?”

“Well.” Sorey tilted his head. He held up his free hand and began to count them off. “Loghrin, Zaphgott Moor, the Great Camelot Bridge, Marlind, Pendrago, uh, the Gaferis Ruins, and Goddodin…gosh!” He chuckled. “All over Glenwood! I’ve kinda lost count.”

“That’s amazing,” Mikleo murmured and he meant it.

Something in his voice must have caught Sorey’s attention, because in an instant he stiffened. Then the human looked down. “…what about you?”

“Hm?”

“You’ve been…gone for a really long time, right?”

Mikleo fought the urge to quietly chuckle. “You can say the word. It won’t hurt my feelings. But yes, I have.”

“In all that time, have you been able to leave the estate?”

Oh.

Mikleo shook his head, another terribly human motion he hasn’t needed to use for decades upon decades. But somehow, suddenly, he finds himself slipping into it all again. “No.”

“I’m sorry,” Sorey said softly.

“Don’t be,” Mikleo told him. His gaze turned to the human. For a moment, he was struck by the soft expression he could see, even just in the young man’s profile. Brows drawn up to a gentle, aching curve. Green eyes, tender and sad and sympathetic for a pain he himself has never had to know. “It’s not your doing,” he added.

“I know, but…” Sorey lifted his head. “…still. _Gosh,_ I can’t imagine that. To be stuck in the same spot for over _two hundred years_ …”

Mikleo made a small sound. “You know quite a lot about me.”

“Yeah? Well,” Sorey chuckled, but not as loud or as happy as before; his head remained bowed, “that’s part of my job, I guess.”

Mikleo hummed. “Is that what this is for?” He lifted a hand towards the still-shining device, barely brushing against Sorey’s own hand. “Your job?”

Sorey shivered again. “Y-yeah. Kinda.” He sighed a long, thin exhale and murmured, “It’s a camera. It records video and audio. Usually, we use bigger and better ones because they can capture better quality frame rates and pixels. I haven’t used my own personal camcorder in _ages_.”

“You know, I only understand half of the words you are saying.”

“Really?” Surprised green eyes shot up and for a moment—just a moment—Mikleo could have sworn they were looking straight at him instead of through him.

Sorey clearly thought the same thing because he gasped, sharp and hard. He backpedaled. He pulled his ‘camera’ tight to his chest, the light from its top splaying outward in a bright ray. Mikleo fought the urge to wince and turn away. “Whoa! Is that you?!”

“Is… _what_ me?”

“That!” Sorey thrust out a single finger towards the center of Mikleo’s chest. No longer just staring at a point beyond him or beside him; Sorey’s keen green eyes were focused on _him_. “You’re glowing!”

Mikleo felt a phantom heat and chill run through him all at once. “What?”

“You’re…” Sorey’s voice dropped off. “Wow. You’re really pretty.”

Mikleo had no blood with which to flush. But he felt warm and embarrassed and a million other butterfly-like things that still made him phase and fade and reform again. “You can _see_ me…?” he asked, barely able to believe it.

“Y-yeah.” Sorey nodded. He pulled up his camera, wide green eyes darting down. “My camcorder can’t, though.”

“Most _people_ can’t,” Mikleo pointed out.

Silence drifted between the two, awkward and full.

Sorey licked his lips. “I—I guess I’m not most people, then.”

“No,” Mikleo agreed quietly. His voice sounded distant and far away even to his own self. “I guess you’re not.”


	3. As the Moon Climbs High O'er Dead Oak Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to everyone who's left kind comments and kudos!! You guys are incredibly wonderful and encouraging and I hope you know how much I love you all!! (｡´ ‿｀♡)

The trip back to into the city that evening was uneventful compared to his exciting afternoon in the Camlann estate. Sorey’s leg would not stop jittering and jumping, his fingers itching to open and close the screen on his camcorder. He wanted to rewind and playback all of the footage he had gotten. He wanted to listen over and over again to the cadence of Mikleo’s voice.

He still couldn’t believe it. Less than an hour ago, he had spoken to a ghost—a _real_ ghost.

And not just any ghost, but _Mikleo Rulay’s_ ghost.

It was too fantastical to keep to himself. Sorey wanted to tell everyone on the same bus as he was while driving to the hotel about this incredible occurrence. He wanted to burst and cheer, shout it on the street:  he got to talk to Mikleo Rulay!

How many times had Sorey dreamed about the questions he would ask important figures from the past, if he had the chance? How many times had he just craved one moment with some of the people who had walked the halls of the ruins he had explored, who had stepped before his own shoes long, long ago, and who had crafted so carefully the artifacts he would later cradle in his hands?

Now that he had such a moment with someone so close to a historical celebrity, Sorey found himself at once both embarrassed by not getting around to the questions he had for so long wanted to ask and thrilled by the fact he even had a _conversation_ with the guy.

It was…magical? Amazing? How would he want to describe it? He couldn’t decide.

Sorey had a spring to his step as he disembarked the bus and waltzed straight into the hotel lobby.

His head was so high in the clouds that the shout of his name barely registered before he was abruptly smacked in the face with a rolled-up newspaper by an angry redhead. Reality was quick to enfold itself around his shoulders after that.

“Rose!” Alisha scolded, grabbing her girlfriend’s arm.

Rose ignored her. She waggled the roll of newspaper under Sorey’s nose, threatening to swing it again. “What the _hell_ , Sorey?! Where the fuck did you run off to? You didn’t answer your phone! You didn’t text us or call us or anything! Did you even bring that dumb thing with you?!”

Sorey rubbed at his forehead with a sharp wince; that was the second time today it had been hit, wasn’t it? “I—“

“—if you _fuckin’_ say you went to that Camlann estate without us, so help me, I will _ground_ you!”

Alisha sighed. Her hold tightened on Rose. “We can’t do anything of the sort, Rose.”

“You’re his _boss_ aren’t you? Can’t you like, I don’t know, make him take a mandatory _leave_ or something? Suspend him?”

“Rose, I’m a director. That’s a little different—“

“—yeah, I went to the estate,” Sorey said.

“Sorey!” Alisha gawked. Rose was caught between looking entirely smug and further enraged. “By yourself? To do _what_ , exactly?”

Sorey held up his camcorder with a sheepish grin. He raised his free hand to scratch the back of his head. “Well, _record_ , y’know? I figured if Rose wasn’t going to bring the team out to Camlann, the least I could do was try to do it for myself. It wouldn’t have to be a big thing; maybe I could just put it up online like I used to.”

“Sorey,” Alisha sighed. She let go of Rose and crossed her arms over her chest. “That would have to go through Bartlow either way.”

Sorey hummed in admission. “Yeah.” With an idle flip-open-and-close of the side-screen on his camcorder, the young host suddenly remembered just what it was he recorded earlier that evening. “Oh! But you wouldn’t believe it! It was amazing! The whole estate was _gorgeous_ —“

Rose rolled her eyes. “—here we go again. I don’t know why I was so—“

“—and I met a _ghost_! Lucas was right! That place really _is_ haunte—“

“—you did _what_.”

Rose’s voice fell dangerously flat.

“Ah…haha…” Sorey laughed. “I met a ghost?” He shrugged and then opened up his camera. His fingers were quick to turn it on and switch to the playback feature. “Here! You should see him! He was really nice—well. Okay, you can’t _see_ him, because I don’t think I was actually able to get a good shot of him, but you can still totally hear him! Look—I mean, listen!“

Rose threw up her hands and backed away as soon as Sorey pressed ‘play.’ “Nope.”

Alisha and Sorey’s heads snapped up to her. Sorey was quick to pause the tape. Alisha frowned to her girlfriend. “Rose…”

“Nuh-uh. Sorry, I’m out.” Rose waved a hand at the two now gathered closely together around the camcorder. “Don’t look at me like that! You guys _know_ how I feel about this kind of thing by now!” she called to them as she turned. She marched away from them with firm footfalls. “Come find me when you’re done trying to be a totally different television genre!”

Sorey watched her go with wide eyes.

He wondered if it was a trick of the light—one of the metallic emblems on the sleeve of Rose’s jacket, maybe, reflecting the light from an overhead chandelier—but for a moment, he could have sworn he saw something almost filmy and long hover behind the redhead. It followed behind her step for step. If he squinted, Sorey could almost see the outline of a pair of broad shoulders and a tall, dark hat grace its top.

“Sorry about Rose,” Alisha murmured.

Sorey’s gaze snapped from the figure to his director. He shook his head, mumbling absent-mindedly, “Oh, nah, don’t worry about it.” He turned again towards the elevators at the end of the lobby Rose was heading for.

This time, he could see nothing behind her.

Strange.

Alisha sighed.

“Here,” she said as she took Sorey’s wrist and guided him to a seating area off to the side. Once perched on a dark leather couch with Sorey beside her, she motioned for him to move closer. “I’ll give your ghost friend a chance. Why don’t we see what this is all about, yes?”

Sorey nodded quickly. “Oh! Okay! Yeah, here—“ He was quick to readjust where he had wound the tape to, fixing it to a point soon after he had seen Mikleo’s cute ‘GET OUT’ message on the kitchen wall.

He let it play, listening with amusement to his own voice as he had called out, ‘ _Is…is someone there?’_

To the ghost who had lived in that mansion for centuries, he had probably seemed pretty dumb.

Alisha craned her head more towards the camera. She had a careful frown on her face. Sorey’s eyes continued to flicker from the video feed to his director’s face, back and forth and back and forth, eager for her to experience the same thrill he had when he first heard Mikleo’s voice.

Finally, the moment came.

‘ _Well. I guess I’ll have to cut all that ou—‘_

_‘—if I talk, will you leave?’_

Sorey bit his lip. He watched Alisha’s face continually, now; he saw the moment her light green eyes drifted to his own.

_‘—so you’re the one that wrote that, then? Is that right?’_

A strange-sounding sigh came across the recording. It still gave Sorey shivers. _‘Yes. That was me.’_

_‘That’s_ amazing _! This is_ so cool _!’_

_‘Yes. You’ve said that.’_

_‘Did I? Oh.’_ His own laugh was awkward and loud on camera. ‘ _Sorry.’_

“Sorey…” Alisha murmured lowly. Her frown pulled deeper on her face.

Sorey held out a hand. “Wait, wait. Just wait. Wait until you hear who it is.”

Alisha’s eyes trained on his profile with an unreadable expression. Sorey couldn’t tell if it was a good thing or a bad thing, but he was fueled by excited anticipation anyway. He gestured towards the camera and Alisha bent her head once more.

‘ _What’s your name?’_

_‘Tell me yours first. Then I will tell you mine.’_

_‘Haha, okay, okay. That’s only fair, I guess. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Friendly Ghost! I’m Sorey. Sorey Shepherd. And you are…?’_

_‘Mikleo. Mikleo Rul—’_

Alisha reached out and paused the video.

Sorey’s eyes darted to her, his heart torn between two places:  high in his throat or deep in his gut. His leg began bouncing again. His hands holding the camcorder jiggled with the motion. “So? What did you think? Pretty cool, right?”

“Sorey…” Alisha said again, in the same tone of voice as before.

“What?”

“Are you…feeling all right?”

Sorey blinked. His leg bounced faster. “Yeah. Why?”

Alisha’s frown returned, careful and deep. She put a hand on his knee and pushed it to still. She raised her other hand to his forehead, gently feeling his brow.

Sorey slowly leaned back. “Alisha?”

After a moment’s pause, his director let go of him. She pulled back. Her frown didn’t leave her face. She sidled further away from him on the couch and folded her hands in her lap. “Sorry, it’s just…” The young woman visibly struggled with the words she wanted to say. “…it’s just strange. I’ve never heard you do that before.”

“Do what before?”

“Sorey,” Alisha called his name again and this time when Sorey looked to her, he somehow managed to keep his leg from moving. All the nervous energy inside of him flew to the center of his chest. “Is this a joke? Were you trying to prank Rose?”

“What?” Sorey closed his camera and pulled it into his lap. “No! Of course not.”

“Then what’s going on here?” Alisha’s question was level and calm, but her voice was laced with worry.

“That’s what I’m thinkin’ I should ask _you_ ,” Sorey muttered back. “Didn’t you hear him?”

“Hear who?”

“Mikleo. The ghost.“

“Sorey, there was no one there.”

“Of course there wasn’t; I told you the camera couldn’t visibly pick him up…!”

“No, I mean even _audibly_.” Alisha leaned in closer, propping herself up on her hand pressed into the couch cushion between them. “Sorey, you know you’re not conversing with anyone in that video, right? There’s nobody talking back to you, at all.”

A strange kind of pressure built up in Sorey’s head, just between his temples. It emitted a strange, whining ring to his ears. “What…?”

“It’s just you.”

Sorey turned to look at the camcorder still resting in his hands. He opened it up again. Rewound the tape.

“Sorey.”

“Yeah?” Sorey pressed ‘play’ once more and listened.

‘ _It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Friendly Ghost! I’m Sorey. Sorey Shepherd. And you are…?’_

_‘Mikleo. Mikleo Rulay.’_

“Has this…happened before?”

Long-forgotten memories stirred from the back of Sorey’s mind:  the press of his mother’s hand to his shoulder, a pill they couldn’t afford placed in his palm, conversations with kind and tall people, saying, ‘This should make them go away.’

“No,” he lied. He rewound the tape again.

_‘It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Friendly Ghost!’_

Alisha sighed again; it was a softer sound than before. “Okay. Maybe you should get some rest. We can talk about what you may have heard again in the morning, if you want, before we send the tape in to Bartlow.”

_‘And you are…?’_

Sorey’s fingers tightened on the device in his hand. “If it really is just me talking, do we really have to send it to him?”

The smile that slid onto Alisha’s face was strained. “You know his rules as well as I do, Sorey. All footage taken while out on business has to go through him, even if it’s not published. That’s just the way it is if we want to count on him as our producer.”

Reluctantly, Sorey nodded.

_‘Mikleo. Mikleo Rulay.’_

Alisha patted his shoulder. She squeezed it once and then stood up. “C’mon. I’ll show you where your room is.”

‘ _No way…!’_

_‘Yes…way.’_

Sorey paused the tape and shut down the camcorder. He restrained a frustrated sigh.

He had a feeling tonight would be a long night.

* * *

“Hey, babe?”

“Hm?”

“You watched what Sorey recorded from the estate, right?”

A quiet shift under the covers. Alisha turned over and placed a gentle hand over the stark white comforter on the curve of Rose’s hip. “Yes, I did. Why?”

Alisha could feel the next breath her lover took; it was careful and guarded. “No reason. Just…wondering if it was any good. We still haven’t decided on going through with the episode on the place, after all. Did he get anything?”

Alisha made a soft sound of thought. “I don’t know. I didn’t see the entire tape. He just showed me a small piece of it.”

Rose nodded.

“But what he _did_ show me was…kind of strange.”

The next breath Rose took was tight. “What kind of strange?”

“Well…he had claimed he had seen a ghost, right?”

“Yeah?”

“But when we watched the recording, I couldn’t hear anything. Sorey was talking, but there was never a response. It was like he was just having a conversation with the air.”

“Huh.”

“Rose?”

The red-head chuckled and shook her head. She rolled over to face Alisha, a small smile spread on her face. “Nothing. That does sound kind of strange, though. And also _very_ Sorey.” She slipped her own arm under the covers, looping it around Alisha’s slim hips. “That guy has a really active imagination, don’tcha think?”

Alisha smiled back at that and let herself be pulled closer. “I suppose that’s true.”

Rose giggled and leaned into kiss the corner of her lover’s lips. “What, you worried about him?”

“Sometimes,” Alisha hummed. Her gaze turned soft as she raised her hands to cup Rose’s face. “But not as much as I worry about you.”

Something unreadable flickered through sapphire eyes. She raised her own free hand to one of Alisha’s on her cheek. “Hey. I’m fine, babe. Things are much better, now.”

“You’d let me know if they weren’t?”

Rose leaned in and pressed her lips to Alisha’s. The kiss was tender, sweet. “Yeah,” she said into the night, bare as a whisper. “I would.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Alisha exhaled long and slow. Her eyes fluttered closed. Rose leaned in and kissed each one.

* * *

_Knock, knock, knock._

“Hey. Meebo.”

Mikleo restrained a groan but it came out anyway. “ _What_ , Edna?”

The smaller spirit twirled her ever-present umbrella over a phantom shoulder. Sometimes, Mikleo thought she carried that ancient thing around just to flaunt in his face how much stronger she was than him. A silent way of bragging, _Look, I can carry around this parasol with me all day and never tire. What can you lift, Meebo? A ketchup packet? Bravo. Meevo._

He doesn’t even know where she got the umbrella from. He wished she would take it back.

_Knock, knock, knock._

“Do you happen to know a ‘Sorey Shepherd’?”

Images from the previous evening spun through Mikleo’s mind. His head snapped up. He looked to the hovering shadow of a dainty blonde girl behind him and he frowned. “…why…?” he asked slowly, carefully.

_Knock, knock, knock._

“Is that a yes?” Edna replied.

“Why would I tell you?”

“Huh.” Edna let out a sound somewhere between a short laugh and a scoff. She turned around. “Well all right then, _pardon me_ , for wanting to tell you that your _friend_ may be at the front door right this second. I _was_ going to give you the honor of shooing him away, especially since he’s calling for you and all, but I guess _I’ll_ just have to take care of him if you really don’t know him—“

“—Edna, wait!” Mikleo hurried forward. A million things flittered through his mind at once; he couldn’t hardly keep track of it.

Sorey? Here?

Again?

Why?

He threw out a faded hand in front of Edna’s form, bringing her to a stop. “Here. Just let me talk to him.”

“Oh? So you _do_ know him?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well, he evidently knows you.” A poignant twirl of her yellow umbrella.

Mikleo fought back another groan. It amazed him, sometimes, how over two hundred years of sharing the same space with a person could still not make them any easier to live with. “I guess so. I’ll fix that.”

“Will you?”

“Yes.”

Edna didn’t seem impressed. She huffed. “Okay, then. Well. Good luck, Meebo.”

“It’s _Mikleo_.”

“Whatever.”

Mikleo sighed. He phased through second story and drifted to the front door. He paused to peek through the side window like he had the day before, curious. But sure enough, there on their front doorstep stood a familiar, bright-eyed human. He watched as Sorey raised his fist once more against the dark oak to rap:  _knock, knock, knock._

He wondered if Sorey knew that he himself couldn’t open doors.

_Well,_ he thought. _This should be interesting…_

* * *

Sorey rocked onto his toes and back onto his heels. He tilted his head up to the sky high above him and smiled a friendly greeting at the morning clouds. He readjusted his heavy bag’s strap over his shoulder. He waited for as long as he dared; he knocked again.

“Hello…!” he called, hoping his voice carried beyond the heavy oak door of Camlann. “Mikleo?” He bit his lip and really prayed he wasn’t just making things up again. “Like I said, it’s me, Sorey!”

Sorey tucked his thumb beneath the strap across his chest. He bit his lip.

“I’ve—uh—I’ve come to see you again! Would it be okay if I came in?”

What was the right thing to do here, he wondered? Was it imposing to visit a ghost? Were you supposed to wait to be invited in, or was it okay if you admitted yourself on inside? Could ghosts open doors?

_Ugh. Too many questions; not enough answers._ For a moment, Sorey was struck by the intense desire to wish there was more literature about ghosts that detailed proper etiquette when dealing with them. He shook his head. He reached out with his hand and grasped the front door’s handle. He inhaled long and slow. “I’m going to open the door now!” he announced. “I…really hope this is okay…!”

He waited another minute before turning the handle. He took one step inside and then another. Green eyes scanned ceiling to floor of the same familiar entry hall from the day before.

Sorey let the door close behind him.

“Hello?” he called again. “Mikleo?”

Camlann, Sorey noticed, seemed very different in the early morning, not as menacing or dark. The rising sunlight from outside seemed to illuminate parts of the house that had been shrouded and dreary yesterday. Where before there had been shadowy corners and red-tinted wood, now there was floating dust and light and a kind of lethargic enchantment to the abandoned manor.

Sorey smiled. He reached for his bag to slip out his recharged camcorder. He flipped it on.

“There we go,” he murmured with a hum of appreciation. “ _Much_ better lighting.”

“For what?”

Sorey jumped with a yelp.

He spun around quickly to his right, his free hand pressed to his collarbone.

There was no mistaking the smile that sat on Mikleo’s pale face, faint and formless though it may have been. The ghost chuckled, hovering a short pace away. “Sorry. Did I scare you?”

“A-a little bit,” Sorey weakly admitted. A grin stretched on his face, wide. Relieved. “But honestly? I’m a bit more glad than frightened.”

“Glad?” A strange look passed over Mikleo’s face. He shifted. “Why? To see me?”

“Yeah.” Sorey swallowed and shook his head quickly. “And I can, actually. See you. That is. Kinda like yesterday.”

Mikleo nodded after a brief pause. “So it seems you can.”

Sorey gasped. “Oh! But that’s not why I’m here—“

“—I was about to ask that, actually—“

“—here!” From his bag, Sorey produced his laptop and its cord. It was difficult to juggle with one hand preoccupied with his camcorder. He pressed his closed laptop and cord to his chest, throwing a wide grin in Mikleo’s direction. “I was thinking a lot about our meeting yesterday, and it occurred to me this morning while I was eating breakfast that well, maybe we could help each other out!”

Mikleo eased back, something guarded in his ethereal countenance. “Help…each other out?” he repeated slowly.

“Yeah!” Sorey’s bright smile didn’t waver. “Think you’ve got a table here we could sit at?”

“I don’t…sit.”

“Well, I do.”

To Sorey’s relief, after a long pause, Mikleo finally nodded. “A-all right. That’s…fair.” He moved uncertainly for a moment, faint violet eyes searching back and forth. “Um. Okay, then. Follow me, I guess.”

Sorey’s grin only widened.


	4. Spooks Arrive for the Midnight Spree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School is starting, so updates are going to be a tad slower. Forgive me.

Mikleo couldn’t believe he was doing this.

He could not believe he was doing this.

Yesterday, Zenrus had told him to make the human ‘leave.’ This morning, Edna had told him to make Sorey ‘go away.’

Sorey should not _be there_ , running a hand with wide eyes across an ornate maplewood table, and recording himself talking about said table. He should not be holding up his camera to record his excited narration of the historical _inaccuracy_ of such a piece of furniture in such a house as this, but how thrilled he was to see such authentic Lastonbell craftsmanship, anyway.

And he most _definitely_ should not be sitting down at the table as he was, turning on the bi-rectangular device he had carried there, acting like he was going to stay in this dining room for a very long time.

Mikleo knew Sorey should go. He knew Sorey should leave and he should not come back.

But when Sorey turned to him with those bright and happy green eyes and patted the upholstered seat next to him expectantly—well. Some part of Mikleo found he was powerless to resist.

He drifted slowly to the spot Sorey had indicated. He tried to fold himself into some manner of ‘sitting’ on the chair as he hovered, placing his non-existent hands in his lap. He watched as the upper square of the device turned blue. After a moment, it changed to an image of an older woman with brown hair holding a small boy with green eyes in her arms. Their faces were pressed together, side-by-side. Their cheeks bunched up between them.

“Ah,” Mikleo murmured. “So you’ve had your portrait done, too.”

Sorey’s gaze flittered to Mikleo and then back to the picture before them. He laughed. “What? Oh—no, that’s not a portrait. That’s a photo.”

“Photo,” Mikleo repeated with a quiet hum. He watched idly as Sorey fiddled with what sounded like buttons or keys on the slender contraption before him. A white box with blue borders slid up to cover the faces of the woman and child. “Yet another word I’m unfamiliar with.”

“It’s kinda like a portrait, but it’s instantaneous. You don’t have to sit for hours and hours just to get a picture of yourself,” Sorey said and he gave Mikleo a cheeky grin.

The spirit frowned. “Oh. That seems far easier.”

“It is.” Sorey nodded. With a small slide of his fingers across the lower part of the device, he came upon a list to the side of the white box, riddled with small black words.

Mikleo wondered if it would be indelicate to ask. “Is she your mother?”

“Hm?” Sorey glanced to the spirit again. After a pause, he nodded. “Oh…yeah. She was.”

Oh.

Mikleo gracefully removed his eyes from the profile of the human beside him. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Sorey gave a quiet sigh that perhaps sounded rougher than he intended it to. “Yeah,” he rasped. “Me too.”

Silence laid heavily between them as they sat there in front of the table.

Finally, his back straightening, Sorey grinned. “Okay! Here we go. _Now_ we’re in business.” He moved the black and silver device closer towards Mikleo’s form. A different list was present on the upper rectangle before him. Small, colored boxes sat beside each item; some of the boxes held tiny images of Sorey’s own face, distorted and difficult to make out.

“What is this?” Mikleo asked, easing himself closer.

“These are the episodes from my show!” Sorey waved a hand towards the list. “Well, some of them anyway. You guys don’t have wi-fi here, so I can’t show you _all_ of them. I can only show you the ones I’ve already got downloaded on my computer, but I thought—hey, for a ghost who hasn’t been able to leave the same house for two hundred years, showing you pieces of the world you’ve always wanted to see might be better than nothing! Right?”

Mikleo turned to Sorey, shock painting his whimsy figure. “What…?”

Sorey laughed. “Sorry, uh—here. Think about it this way. If you could go anywhere in the world and see anything you wanted to see, what would you like to visit?”

Mikleo had no clue. The world he had known during his own lifetime was probably long gone by this point. Time changes things; builds over what’s ruined and breaks down what’s considered immortal.

“Anywhere?” he asked quietly.

“Anywhere,” Sorey murmured. After a beat, he added, “Well, _almost_ anywhere. I haven’t filmed the whole world yet, haha! But I’ll show you whatever I can!”

Mikleo looked to the human beside him with wonder and for a moment, he was struck by something warm, something that swallowed up all of his chest and surrounded it in in amazement. How in all of Glenwood it could be that someone was so kind and sincere?

Mikleo knew what it was he wanted to see. “Show me the St. Mabinogio Ruins,” he said quietly. He shimmered, thrumming with excitement.

Sorey raised an eyebrow. A chuckle burst out of him, cut off abruptly as if he hadn’t intended to truly laugh. “Really? But that’s not too far from here. You sure you don’t want something—I don’t know—more touristy? Like the Pendrago Shrinechurch?”

Mikleo turned to the human. He raised both eyebrows. “Those ruins are important to me, Sorey.”

“All right, all right.” Sorey laughed again. Mikleo felt a burst of warmth within the center of his being at the sound. “As you wish!” the human chirped and with a glide and tap of his finger, a black box popped up on the ‘computer,’ swallowing everything else that could be seen on its surface. He urged the device closer to Mikleo. His smile was bright and warm.

In two hundred years, the St. Mabinogio ruins Mikleo remembered had changed, according to Sorey’s ‘recordings.’

Grand pictures presented themselves before the spirit’s eyes of the familiar, crumbling architecture he had known of his childhood. Fallen pillars, decorated with emblems and symbols with meanings long forgotten lied splayed in grass. Sorey appeared in the moving picture at several points, gesturing to faded murals etched onto walls and monoliths with shallow writing too difficult to make out. His voice narrated stories.

“I used to play in those ruins when I was younger,” Mikleo murmured. He could feel more than see Sorey’s eyes turn to him. The images changed to majestic sweeps of long, stone hallways with leafy green seeping through cracked corners. “Whenever I could manage to slip away from the estate—which was pretty much every Sunday afternoon and Thursday morning.” Fondness crept into his tone as he added, “At that time, St. Mabinogio was old, yes, but I don’t think I remember it being so overrun with flora.”

Sorey’s smile softened. “Yeah?”

The spirit moved his head in a nod. A warm sense of nostalgia swept over him. “Oh yes.” His whole form seemed to hum with memory. “I loved those ruins:  the ancient charm, the rich stories on every wall. It was the perfect place to pretend I was some sort of historian. And—as you’ve already said—it’s not so very far away from here.”

The human to his left laughed. “Gosh, you sound like _me_! I used to do the same thing!”

Mikleo turned to him. “Really?”

“Yeah!” Sorey shook his head and leaned back in his chair. He crossed his arms over his chest, head tilted to the ceiling. “Except I didn’t have any ruins to really get away to. Not until I got to college. I used to run in the forest all the time growing up, though. I’d pretend I was scouting some great archeological dig site and then come home covered in mud afterwards. My mom _hated_ it.”

Mikleo couldn’t help himself. He laughed. “Oh, so did my mother. I would come home with scratches from the rough stones, and my clothes would be all covered in dust from St. Mabinogio. She would never let me hear the end of it.”

“Really?” Sorey cackled out a great laugh. “That’s _wild_!”

Mikleo’s brow dipped briefly. “Well—I mean—yes, admittedly it was improper behavior of a noble’s nephew…”

“No, no, not that!” Sorey’s grin widened. “I mean it’s wild how similar we are!” As if to illustrate this, he flung out an arm between the two of them. “Just think:  if we hadn’t been born so many years apart, maybe we could’ve known each other! Maybe we could have even been friends! I mean, not that I don’t think we aren’t friends _now_ , but, y’know it’s an interesting thought—“

“—you think we’re friends?”

Sorey froze. Mikleo watched as bright and warm green eyes slid up to his own, more tentative than before.

“Well…yeah.” The corner of the human’s mouth slowly twitched upward. “You’ve held a conversation with me for more than ten minutes and haven’t called me a ‘nerd’ yet. I think that means something, don’t you?”

“I don’t even know what a ‘nerd’ is.”

Sorey chuckled. He shook his head. “See? Now, you’re my _best_ friend.”

“Well, that wasn’t hard to accomplish.”

“It generally isn’t.” Sorey tossed the spirit a wink before he turned to the computer again. With some more tapping on the lower section, he brought up the same list as before. “Well?” he asked. “Where to next, Mikleo?”

Something about Sorey calling his name—asking him that question in particular—made Mikleo feel more alive than he had in over two hundred years.

“Everywhere,” he found himself murmuring. “Anywhere.”

Sorey turned to the spirit and raised an eyebrow once again. A smile spread on his face. “Anywhere?”

“I want to see it all,” Mikleo said.

Sorey nodded. He turned to the computer again. “All right, then. The whole world it is! Well, what I’ve got downloaded of it, of course.”

Another swipe and a click. Mikleo relaxed as a new monument lit up before him, narrated as always by an enthusiastic and friendly, bright-eyed young man.

* * *

Alisha sighed and pressed her face into her hands.

Eguille rolled up his sleeve and tilted his wrist up. His eyes drifted to his watch. “Hey, uh, Madam Director?”

“Yes?”

“It’s almost noon.”

Alisha let out a soft sound between a groan and another sigh. She bowed her head further, pressing her fingers into the space right above her eyes. “Yes. So it is,” she breathed, but the words came out heavy and dreary.

Eguille let his sleeve fall back down and dropped his hands in his lap. “Think Sorey’s really sleepin’ in?”

“Talfryn and Rose will tell us, I suppose.” Alisha straightened up slowly. She pulled her hands from her face, a sharp frown sliding over.

Felice frowned, too, mirroring her. “Sorey’s never been a late riser, has he?”

“No.” Alisha shook her head. “When the sun’s up, he’s up. Which is what makes this so strange.” She leaned back against the leather lobby couch and ran a hand through her ponytail. Her fingers caught on stray knots and worked them free. “I had thought he was sick at first when I tried knocking on his door this morning, but now…”

Felice, sitting beside her, nodded. “Now…” she repeated quietly.

“It’s official!” Rose exclaimed loudly as she marched onto the scene from the elevators, Talfryn on her heels. Heads jerked up from all members of the crew. Alisha shot to her feet. Rose moved past her and straight towards Eguille, holding out her hand. “Keys, Eguille.”

“Rose?” Alisha followed her girlfriend.

“This just in, Alisha:  Sorey’s not in his room!” Rose tossed her girlfriend a quick glance over her shoulder. Once Eguille placed the van keys in her palm, she turned for the doors on the far end of the lobby. “And I will bet you real, actual, hard _cash_ that I know where the fuck that idiot has snuck off to, too.”

Alisha pressed her lips together tightly. She bounded after Rose.

“W-wait!” Felice jumped to her feet, as well. “Should we go with you? Isn’t that mansion where we’re filming—?”

“No,” Rose said. She threw open one of the hotel doors and let Alisha walk through first. She pointed her fingers at the crewmembers still standing on their feet. “You guys stay here until we get back with our host. _We_ need to have a little talk with him, first.”

Alisha shuddered in the autumn chill that washed over her as she stepped outside. She wrapped her arms around herself and headed for the blue company van parked a few paces down. “Yes,” she couldn’t help but agree as Rose sidled up behind her, briskly walking. “We do. Last night was one thing, but this morning, as well? Sneaking off on his own to record while we’re on company time?”

Rose huffed. “He has a lot of explaining to do, if you ask me.”

Alisha nodded.

* * *

Somewhere towards the end of their fifth episode, the video suddenly paused. A low-battery warning popped onto the screen. Sorey jumped to his feet with a cry of, “Oh! Shoot!” and grabbed his charger, spinning around. His green eyes scaled the lower edges of the walls along the room quickly.

“…oh.”

“Oh?” Mikleo repeated. He slid up from his spot just above the chair and looked around. “What, is something wrong?”

“I—“ Sorey huffed a laugh and raised a hand to his forehead. “—aw, man. I forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

Sorey looked to the tri-pronged edge of his charging cord, and to the walls of a fifty-year-old building. He shook his head and laughed. “Nah, don’t—don’t worry about it. I just made a really dumb mistake.” He turned back towards the table and dropped his cord back onto the surface. He sighed. “Sorry, it looks like that’ll be the last one we can watch for today.”

“That’s all right.”

Sorey could feel Mikleo watching him as he powered down his computer. He tossed the spirit a smile over his shoulder.

Mikleo shifted slightly; an odd motion, like he had weight to move from side to side. “By the way…thank you.”

“Hm?” Sorey’s smile widened. He turned to slip his laptop into his bag and stuff the cord in after it. “For what, letting you watch some of my show?” He shook his head. “Don’t mention it. Though I should probably be the one thanking _you_.”

“I don’t know why,” Mikleo murmured to him. “I didn’t do anything.”

Sorey shrugged. He zipped his bag shut.

Maybe there was something on his face. When Mikleo spoke again, it was quietly. Softly. “You showed me things I haven’t been able to see in _years,_ and things I’ll probably never get to see again. I’m…really grateful for that, Sorey. Just let me say thank you, okay?”

Sorey could feel heat rise to his cheeks. He stilled his hands. A moment’s pause, and then he bowed his head. He nodded tightly. “Y-yeah…okay.”

“Good.”

There was a smile in that voice.

Sorey turned to the spirit and with a red face, he smiled back.

“Well, isn’t this just _gross._ ”

For the second time that day, Sorey yelped. He spun around, eyes wide as he looked to the doorway of the dining room.

It was strange, what appeared to his eyes. At first, he had thought he saw a soft yellow cloud—something ethereal and half-there—but when he blinked, the apparition vanished. All that remained was a floating, old umbrella, dusty and worn.

It spun continually, casting a dark shadow over the woodwork beneath.

“Uh—what—“ Sorey spluttered.

“Edna!” Mikleo barked. “I said I was taking care of it!”

“Yeah, _hours ago_. And look who’s still here?” came a haughty voice, flat and young. The umbrella’s angle turned slightly. If Sorey squinted, he thought he could make out a slender shoulder just underneath it. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were getting quite buddy-buddy with this human here, Meebo.”

Mikleo changed color.

From his cool, teal aura, Mikleo shimmered briefly into a burning fuchsia with sparks of bright blue curling around his form. He thrummed with this new spill of hues for a moment and then, almost as quickly as it had folded over him, the hints of pink slipped away.

Sorey’s eyes widened.

“For the last time, stop calling me that!”

“Or what, you embarrassed your new friend here is going to start referring to you as ‘Meebo’ now, too?”

“That’s not my name…!”

“But you don’t deny he’s your friend?” The unseen spirit tsked. Sorey could almost make out a head shaking with the motion. Was that blonde hair? “I knew it. You’re hopeless. You can’t even send away a simple human.”

Mikleo’s shoulders shook. “I’m not—“

“—he’s not hopeless.”

The hairs on the back of Sorey’s neck stood on end as he could feel more than see the eyes that snapped to him once he spoke. He swallowed and chuckled nervously. “I mean…he’s not. I don’t know what’s going on here, but Mikleo’s actually really nice.”

“Yeah, well,” the feminine spirit scoffed. “Being nice isn’t the same thing.”

“Edna,” Mikleo sighed.

“No.” The umbrella closed, and as it was turned over through the air, pointed end aimed towards Mikleo’s face, Sorey got a clear picture of chin-length blonde hair and blue eyes shrouded in pale gold. “You’re endangering him, Meebo. Make him leave.”

Mikleo shook his head. “They don’t come out until _night_ , Edna. He’s fine as long as he doesn’t stay until then.”

“Until night…?”

“Are you kidding me?” Edna raised a single eyebrow. Despite her small, young form Sorey could make out, she seemed to have great strength to her. “You’re really dumb enough to think that they wouldn’t try anything even right _now_?”

“They haven’t yet!” Mikleo insisted. He waved a hand at the umbrella end still pointed at his face. His hand phased through it. “And he’s been here hours.”

“There’s nothing _tying_ them to the night, you idiot.” Edna’s face tightened. “They’re not like—“

“—who’s ‘they’?” Sorey looked between the two spirits.

For a beat, silence was his only answer.

Then, so quiet, Sorey almost didn’t hear her, Edna muttered, “So he can hear _and_ see us…?”

The spirit shook her head. She spoke louder. “Whatever.” Her eyes, filmy and like filtered light through water, moved to him. Sorey straightened his back. “You want to know who ‘they’ are? ‘They’ are bad people. Yes, that’s right. There are ghosts other than us living within these walls and some of them are bad. That’s it; the end. Now the story’s over. Get out.”

Something in Sorey’s chest tightened, rising. A million things raced through his head. “Wait—but I still have so many _questions—_!“

Edna rolled her eyes. She pulled her umbrella back to rest it against her shoulder. She turned around. “And I’m sure all of your tutors loved you. But we don’t have time. We can’t count on those bad spirits waiting until nighttime to act. At any moment, they could choose to be cruel.”

“But who _are_ they?” Sorey insisted. “Did they work here? Were they part of the staff at Camlann?”

Edna turned to Mikleo, the look on her face sharp and unamused. “Please tell me he’s the only one. There’s not more annoying idiots like him, right?”

Mikleo sighed and shook his head. “No. There’s no—”

He cut himself off the instant he heard the familiar creak of a heavy, dark oak door.

A single voice called out, feminine. Gentle.

“H-hello…? Sorey…? You in here?”

Both spirits sharply looked to Sorey—one with surprise and the other, spite.  

Sorey’s eyes widened.


	5. Now Don't Close Your Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *wheezes nervously* This is....so belated. So late. And not so nearly as good enough as it should be but. After 1000+ revisions, here it is, anyway. 
> 
> Many, many, many thanks to **ArdentKnight** who like, hashed the entire mansion's layout with me and other things in this chapter. Gosh, this chapter probably wouldn't even exist without her. 
> 
> Also, many thanks to my darling fiance, who always always always reads over things before I post them, and who always offers the sweetest feedback. I love her.

Alisha stepped up cracked stone until she reached the front door of the infamous Camlann Estate. She tilted her head back, green eyes carefully skimming over the patterned red brickwork that lined the face of the mansion.

“So,” she breathed. Her fingers itched at her sides. “This is Camlann.”

It was darker and more foreboding than she had anticipated. Even if it turned out in the end that the rumors weren’t true and the building was harmless, she could believe why such ghost stories would take root here. The building emanated something almost otherworldly and sinister.

She fought off the shiver that darted down her back and looked behind her one last time. Down the gravel drive to the left of the front door step sat the blue company van—still running, since Rose had claimed it would encourage Alisha to grab Sorey and get out of this “freaky joint.” Alisha smiled at the sliver of her girlfriend she could see in the driver’s seat. Rose waved back with a small smile before frowning and pointing at the front door.

Alisha rolled her eyes. She turned around.

“All right, then,” she murmured and reached forward to ease the door carefully open. The aged oak was heavier than it looked.

“Hello?” She ducked her head inside the mansion’s interior. Floating dust in a lightless hall greeted her. She scanned what she could see of the foyer for any sign of a brown-haired television host and his signature blue button-up but all she could see was a dark red rug and a media table to the side with various rusted gold knickknacks strewn upon it.

Alisha took a step inside and called again, pushing the door open further. “H-hello…? Sorey…? You in here…?”

From further on and to her left, a short cry of, “Oh, shoot! Alisha!” burst through the silence.

Alisha jerked her eyes forward. She raised a hand and pressed it to her collar. “Sorey?”

She could see the moment Sorey sprinted into sight. He rounded the corner into the entryway, panting, green eyes wide and tan face flushed. Both heat and relief coursed through Alisha in one fell swoop at the sight.

“Gosh, I’m so sorry!” Sorey cried. He bent over and pressed his hands into his knees; he heaved out a harried breath. “I didn’t mean to be away for so long…!“

Alisha opened her mouth, but found that there were many things she wanted to say all at once. She scrambled, searching for what would be appropriate to come first.

She crossed her arms over her chest. Her eyes raked over Sorey’s rumpled form. “Hello to you, too, Sorey. Rose had said you might be here, but I have to admit, even I wasn’t sure.” She shook her head and shifted her weight. Her hands fell to her sides. “What are you _doing_ here? I’m starting to get really worried about you…!”

“Rose?” Sorey straightened up. Alisha fought off the familiar heat of frustration that flicked through her; once again, there he was, deflecting and ignoring the questions he didn’t want to answer. Sorey’s green eyes flew to the door Alisha had left open behind her. “Wait, is she here, too?”

“She’s in the van outside.” Alisha sighed and looked over her shoulder again. “She didn’t want to come in.”

“Oh…sorry.”

Alisha turned to the young man before her for a long moment. She shook her head. “How did you even get here, Sorey? Evidently, you didn’t take our van.”

“I…I took the bus. There’s a stop not too far away.”

Alisha’s face tightened. After a pause, she gave a sharp inhale and pinched the bridge of her nose. She pressed her free hand into her hip. “Then allow me to guess:  that’s what you took yesterday when you came out here, as well?”

Sorey nodded.

In the awkward and tense silence that followed, he bowed his head. “Look, I’m _sorry_ ,” he said again.

“You’ve said that,” Alisha murmured. Her hand fell to her side; she lowered her voice. “But I kind of have to wonder, Sorey:  what are you really apologizing for here? That you left us without warning, while we were supposed to be working— _twice_? Or that clearly something’s going on, either in your head or here in this house, and you’re not trusting your own friends with it?”

Sorey paused, mouth working for words that never came. He shook his head. “Look, it’s not like that.”

“Then what _is_ it like?”

“It’s—I don’t know if you would get it.”

Alisha’s green eyes reexamined every inch of his face. “Is this about that ‘friend’ of yours…?”

The door slammed shut.

Somewhere after the moment when she had first stepped into the manor and before she found Sorey, Alisha had forgotten that the door behind her had been left wide open. The sunlight streaming through suddenly closed off. Left in a darkness sharper than before, Sorey stepped back. Alisha’s head jerked around.

Sorey visibly tensed. “M-Mikleo…?” he called. His eyes searched everywhere around the door.

Alisha turned to her friend. She pressed a hand to her collarbone as if it would keep her heart from beating out of her chest.

‘Mikleo’…?

Sorey looked away. He spun on his heel as if his name had been called and his eyes fell on some undefined point behind him. For a solid beat, he did not move, eyes set and staring at nothing. Alisha stood behind him and watched.

“S-Sorey…?” she called.

He turned to her. Sorey reached forward for her hand. “You’re right,” he said, the words fumbling over themselves to get out of his mouth. Alisha let him pull her along, though she hadn’t a clue what it was she had been ‘right’ about. Sorey marched for the front door. “You’re right. Alisha. I shouldn’t have—um—we should go.”

“Sorey—“ Alisha’s voice cut off as she watched him grab the door’s handle. He tugged it once, then twice; he turned and jimmied the knob.

The door refused to budge.

Alisha made a small sound; her chest squeezed tight.

Suddenly, Sorey’s hand jerked away from the door as if he had been burned. He stepped back, pushing Alisha with him. She stumbled in surprise. “Sorey!” Fingers grasped at the sleeves of his shirt; her eyes snapped to his profile.

It occurred to her within that moment that she had never before seen Sorey so afraid.

His green eyes were wide, his breathing irregular. Every muscle in his shoulders and arms were rigid and tense; he had to his face and skin a certain and awful cadaverous pallor as he stood there stone-still, staring at the unmoving door before them.  

In the tense quiet, Alisha swallowed hard. Her voice was tight and small. “Sorey, are you all right?”

Sorey didn’t answer. He moved back a step further, but this time, he put an arm out to push Alisha behind him. Alisha’s gut swam with something both heavy and cold. She backed up with him, slow and careful like they were tip-toing around a sleeping giant.

Sorey’s head jerked behind him again. Then, all of a sudden, he cried, “Okay—c’mon, Alisha!”

Sorey wrapped his hand around Alisha’s wrist and yanked her after him. The hallway spun around them violently; Alisha stumbled, trying to right herself as they raced further into the manor. Sorey pulled her sharply through a doorway and then the world opened up into an expansive, ornate and beautifully aged ballroom. It was lovely, like a sepia-toned photograph from decades past.

“Do you know where you’re going?” she asked Sorey between quick pants of breath.

Sorey gave a half-shake of his head that somehow morphed into a half-nod. He did not seem to be nearly as awed by the ballroom as she was, and Alisha had to remind herself that he had, in fact, been here before.

Belatedly, some part of her wondered if she should have listened to him more.

“Kind of?” Sorey offered and pulled Alisha towards one of the two doors at the back of the ballroom. “Mikleo knows this place _way_ better than I do. He says there’s a door to the outside through the back of the kitchens!”

There it was, that name again. Mikleo.

Had Sorey mentioned him before? Why did that name sound so familiar?

“Who is—“

No sooner had Sorey opened the door they had been running towards, did Alisha find her heart get stuck in her throat. The kitchens, dark and unlit beyond the door, were in disarray. An oven that had been covered by a large stretch of canvas was pushed to the side; drawers from countertops were spilled open. The few chairs that had been scattered throughout the space were now overturned.

But more alarming and arresting than that were the various knives hovering at eye-level, glinting in the sunlight that filtered in through the wide ballroom windows behind them.

Alisha felt her fingertips go numb.

In the next instant, Sorey slammed the door back shut. Rapid-fire thuds and splintering wood immediately resounded from the other side. Alisha shrieked. Sorey pulled her away, back in the direction they had come from. He set off running.

“We need to find another way out!” Sorey shouted to the walls. Alisha clung tight to his hand. Together, they bolted into the hallway beyond the ballroom and took a sharp right. “Now!”

Alisha could barely breathe around the hard thumping of her heart in her throat.

“It really _is_ haunted,” she gasped. “This place really is—“

“—Alisha!”

Alisha’s head jerked up. A door to her left swung open and bashed into her, knocking her sharply into the wall. At the same instant, from right above her, a hanging picture frame shattered. Glass fell. She screamed, covering her head with her hands.

When she felt nothing dig into her skin, she risked a quick glance up.

Sorey stood over her, body bent like a cover; he had a tight, uncomfortable wince to his face.

“Sorey—!”

“It’s okay,” he gritted through his teeth. He shook his head. “It was just a frame. We need to keep going—stairs.”

Alisha’s green eyes slipped behind his shoulder. Further on down at the end of the hall, she could see what he had been indicating. A set of stairs sat tucked away, hugging the wall and bending towards the second level of the manor.

“Stairs,” she breathed. “Is…is up really the way we should go? Can’t we just—“

Sorey grabbed her hand to help her to her feet. He was dragging her along again before she could get another word out.

“Mikleo says there’s a safe place up there,” he gasps to her over his shoulder. “We just have to find it!”

With his other hand, Sorey pushed his fingers through his hair. Small shards of glass fell free from his mussy brown locks and to the floor. There was another pop of glass to their right and another burst of shards. Alisha yelped. More and more frames burst beside their heads as they ran, broken, glittering pieces raining around them.

“Hurry!” Sorey cried as they reached the foot of the stairs.

They broke onto the second floor and Sorey banked a hard left. Alisha hurried after him, her eyes glancing to the large square windows set into the wall on her right. The drapes over them were a faded and dull violet. Outside the windows, she could see an enclosed courtyard, the landscaping half-finished.

“Sorey—!”

She had just a moment to raise a single finger towards the greenery and overturned dirt she could see beyond, before Sorey shot back, “It’s not safe!”

“W-what—?”

“It’s surrounded by Camlann, so they can still get to us there!”

“But it’s _outside_ , right?” Surely outside was better than being inside where there were so many objects they could still be harmed by? “Sorey, who exactly is telling you all of this?”

Alisha’s voice tilted oddly as they ducked into an old bedroom still unfinished. They ran through an attached bathroom. They burst back out into the hallway from another adjacent bedroom. “Is this all coming from your friend?”

“Yes!” Sorey responded. They took a sharp left into a small study. “His name—“ he said, releasing his hold on Alisha’s wrist as he turned to grab the door and slam it shut behind them— “—is Mikleo!”

“Yes, I figured that,” Alisha panted to him. She pressed a hand to her chest again and took a step back, away from the door and further into the study. Her back hit the chair in front of the center desk. She glanced behind her. She tried to regain her breath. “You’ve said nothing but his name this entire time. But Sorey, isn’t he _one_ of them?”

Sorey didn’t answer, his shoulder still pressed to the door. Tilting his head, he craned his ear towards the dark wood. Alisha held her breath.

It occurred to her, after a moment, that ever since they had reached the second floor, there had been no other supernatural attack on them. She found a strange tension knotting itself in her chest at the realization:  relief that they had somehow evaded whatever spirit had been chasing them, yet an insistent worry, thick and strong, that they had also somehow unknowingly played right into their phantom assailants’ hands, too.

“Sorey,” she said, her voice soft and subdued. “What if this is a trap?”

Sorey was quick to shush her again. His face was tight. He seemed to be listening to something or someone. But after a moment’s pause, he nodded and pulled away from the door. He quickly moved around the room.

“Sorey?” Alisha called again. She watched him examine the books lining the shelves. Sorey shook his head.

“No, I don’t see any…” he mumbled under his breath.

Alisha fought off the thrill of frustration that bubbled through her. “Sorey, _please_ listen to me. We need to get out of here…!”

“That’s what we’re trying to do, Alisha…!” Sorey’s voice was thinly frustrated more than angry but still Alisha felt her gut swim and her stomach turn over.

It did not escape her notice that Sorey had said ‘we.’ Not ‘I.’

Sorey stood up and stepped towards the fireplace at the center of the opposite wall. He placed his hands on the above mantle, searching and peering and fiddling with empty picture frames and dusty candlesticks.

Alisha sighed and shook her head. “Sorey, I really think we should—“

She never got to finish.

Something Sorey touched made a large _clank_ noise reverberate throughout the study. There was a shift in the wall behind the hearth. The fireplace rotated. Suddenly, the marble tile Sorey stood upon jerked up from under him. He fell forward, tumbling out of sight through the darkened space that had been opened. Alisha jerked forward.

“Sorey!”

Her hand shot out but by the time she could reach the fireplace, it had returned to as it was before.

Her fingers brushed aged wood and dark, floral wallpaper.

Alisha called his name again.

“ _Sorey!_ ”

Only silence answered her.

* * *

“ _Sorey!”_

Mikleo phased through the fireplace and out to the other side. An unlit and unused coal chute unlike anything he had seen before met him. He caught just a brief glimpse of Sorey’s form falling down the steep metal before he crashed into the ground below. The spirit hurried to his side.

“Sorey, are you all right?”

Sorey groaned. He moved to sit up, lifting a hand to gingerly rub at his head. Sharply, he winced and pulled his hand away. “Gosh. Glass _hurts_ …”

“Well, yes. But so does falling down an entire floor, I imagine,” Mikleo murmured with little humor. He hovered close and reached for Sorey’s hair. “Here. Sit still. I’ll see what I can remove.”

Sorey was quick to wave a hand at him and, without knowing, through him. Mikleo backed away. He felt an odd chill pass over him. “No, not now. We gotta hurry. Alisha’s still up there, and those two that were chasing us—“

“—they’re not here right now. I think you’re safe…for the moment.”

Sorey looked around the dark, round room. It wasn’t necessarily something Mikleo would call _spacious_ , but it looked as if four or five more people could fit. But perhaps more worrying than that was the fact that Mikleo couldn’t remember ever hearing about Lunarre _planning_ for a coal chute of this nature, especially on this side of the estate. The study was supposed to brace the outdoor wall, wasn’t it? How and when did a coal chute get added without his knowing?

Mikleo frowned and couldn’t recall. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that—a piece of the house he had been living in for _centuries_ suddenly existing. For one terrible moment, it made him wonder if there were _other_ parts of this house that he didn’t know about, as well.

But he supposed he already knew the answer to that question.

The human near him pushed to his feet. “Alisha?” he called to the ceiling. His voice echoed in the dark chamber.

There was the sound of something fumbling. A shift and a faint groan of wood. Alisha’s cry sounded, far clearer than before, and Mikleo could make out the outline of her and her pink jacket as she, too, fell into the empty space.

“Ah!” she gasped once her back hit the rough floor. “Ouch!”

“Alisha!” Sorey hurried to her side.

Alisha gave a small sound before she pushed herself up. With a quiet, pained sigh, she raised a hand to her back; her face pulled tight into a wince. “Ah… _glass_ …”

“Are you all right?” Sorey asked. His hand hovered over Alisha’s shoulder.

“I’m fine.” Alisha’s voice was thin. She sucked in a quiet breath. Her gaze turned to the dark and tall room they had fallen into. “Where are we?”

“A coal chute, I believe,” Mikleo murmured to Sorey. The human turned to him; it was surprising to Mikleo how bright Sorey’s eyes were even in the dark. “Though I’m not entirely sure. This wasn’t part of the original building plans, and the construction is a bit…unorthodox.”

“So…wait.” Sorey tilted his head. “Does that mean this is something _Lunarre_ added? Maybe even something he himself designed?””

Mikleo restrained a sigh at the way Sorey’s expression seemed to light up even when in potential danger still. He may not have known the young man for long, but even he wasn’t surprised to see how excited he became at the prospect of learning more history.

“Not that the man had much talent in that field if you ask me,” he murmured under his breath.

“Wow…! That’s so cool!”

Mikleo wasn’t sure whether to smile or frown. He shook his head, tried not to laugh, and brought himself closer. “Only _you_ would say that. Those spirits who were chasing you earlier; you _realize_ one of them was—“

“—so he’s there, then…? Here, I mean? With us?”

Alisha’s voice came soft, in a murmur.

Sorey’s gaze snapped to hers. Summer green met emerald even in the dark of the room. Alisha swallowed; her eyes trailed behind the brunet to an estimated, if inaccurate, location of where Mikleo was.

“Yeah,” Sorey said back. His hand, still above Alisha’s shoulder, fell away. “Mikleo is.”

“And you’re talking to him right now?”

“Well, kinda.” Sorey gave a half-hearted shrug. “I mean, technically, I’m talking to _you_ at the moment, so—“

“—Sorey.” Alisha’s voice suddenly dropped to a different quality. Something with wonder, something with fear. The tone of her voice stirred a strange discomfort in Mikleo, like a growing void of apprehension in what he supposed should be his stomach. “I don’t think this is funny. You should be careful.”

Sorey shook his head. His smile softened. “Alisha, I _am_ being careful—“

“No. You’re not.”

The grin on Sorey’s face faltered. “Okay…” he answered slowly, carefully. His gaze never left hers. “…what…what do you mean?”

An anxious buzz hummed through Mikleo; a white noise he could both feel and hear.  

In one terrible moment he had made a dismaying observation.

“Don’t you see it?” Alisha continued. Her voice grew more urgent, more insistent. “Sorey, look where we _are._ Look at the room we’re in. This chamber has no windows and no doors…!”

Mikleo knew he wasn’t human anymore.

“How, exactly, are we supposed to get out?”

“I…”

He _knew_ he wasn’t.

“Sorey, I know you want to believe him because your heart is _kind_ and your heart is _good,_ but I think…I think we need to seriously consider the possibility that your friend might have lead us here on purpose.”

So Mikleo wondered why his chest constricted as if it still somehow had a heart to squeeze.

“I think this might be a trap.”


	6. And Don't Try to Hide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BELATED HALLOWEEN...I wanted to get this done so badly alsdkjfljkasdf for Halloween because GHOST AU I MEAN but even then I still finished it a bit late. RIP me. 
> 
> BIG THANKS to my fiance without whom this chapter, as always, wouldn't exist.
> 
> (Also, forgive me for the Haunted Mansion references..................but I couldn't resist.)

He made a mistake.

It was the first and only thing Mikleo could think for a solid minute as he slid back and away from the two humans who still knelt in the center of the dark chamber. He had made a horrible, grave mistake—and one that might bring great harm to someone who had been willing, once upon a time, to call him a _friend_.

“What was he even having you look for, Sorey? The lever that lead us here?” Mikleo watched as Alisha grabbed Sorey’s sleeve. She leaned forward and the brunet leaned back. His green-eyed gaze turned away.

“Mikleo thinks this might be a coal chute—“

“That’s not what I asked.”

Alisha’s fingers dug further into the blue of his shirt. Sorey’s eyes darted down to her hand before rising back up to her face. “I asked what he told you to _look for._ ”

“It—a book, but…” Sorey breathed. “It wasn’t a lever. It wasn’t a secret _thing_ of any sort.”

“Sorey…”

Ugh, that stupid _book._ He had only been trying to help; he had only been trying to offer Sorey and Alisha some protection until Gramps came as usual to make Lunarre and Symonne stop their cruel haunts. He _knew_ one of Lailah’s old tomes was in that study. He had thought if they could use it, maybe they’d be safe.

Mikleo moved until he reached the wall.

Looking back on that hope now, he supposed he should have known such a book wouldn’t have been any help. What do Sorey and Alisha know about the kind of things Lailah and Uncle Michael had been researching…?

What had _any_ of them known?

A pitched laugh rose from behind him.

Immediately, the pale-haired spirit spun around to see Lunarre pull through the wall with the lazy saunter of a purring feline. His ever-present and too-wide smile seemed to split his face unnaturally. 

“My, what a _show_ that was,” Lunarre murmured, humming, “I must say, I haven’t had so much fun in _ages_ …”

Mikleo drew up his chest. He felt anger and hurt swirl together, with a level of intensity he hadn’t been subject to in a long time. If he had hands, he would have curled them into fists. “You’ve done _enough_. Now go away.”

“Oh, on the contrary, silly boy, I think I’m just getting _started_.”

“Leave them alone!” Mikleo’s voice rose without wanting to. A million emotions that two hundred years of relative solitude couldn’t have taught him how to manage rushed through him. He didn’t want to look at the worried green eyes that had snapped to his profile at his outburst. He didn’t know what he would do. He didn’t know what he would _say_ that could possibly assuage their worries. “Aren’t you supposed to only come out at night? I thought—I thought that was the _deal_ or something—“

Lunarre clicked his tongue, shaking his head. The ethereal tail of his long hair swung with the movement. “There’s never been any sort of formal agreement, silly boy. The only thing that decides when my playtime is, is who’s _watching_. Or—in this case—” the ghost snickered meaningfully, “—who _isn’t_.”

“Then I’ll _tell_ Gramps! He won’t let you—”

“When?” Somehow, Lunarre’s grin seemed to widen even further like he had just ensnared a canary under his teeth. He drifted closer to Mikleo; Mikleo eased back, a growing discomfort churning in his gut. “From what I hear, the man _and_ all of your other former servants actually have their hands full right now. Their heads have been turned, managing a seal that’s been acting rather strange lately…”

Dread swam, low and heavy.

Mikleo’s voice dropped. “What did you _do_.”

“Haha! Why don’t you go on and find out, instead of pretending to be a bodyguard for your new flesh toy? Maybe you could even _help_.”

“He’s _not_ my—“

“—oh, that’s right! Of course. Silly me.” Lunarre laughed to himself, tittering. “I forgot…little Mikleo Rulay won’t _go_ down to the basement. He never has. He’s too _scared_ of what he might _find_ —“

“—shut _up_!”

Indignation and hurt and fire burst hot in his chest. Mikleo’s form burned with it, his essence wound up tight and flickering with red hues like a sparking flare.

He really wished he could hit Lunarre.

He really wished he could just make him go away like Gramps.

He wished—

“Mikleo…?”

Mikleo’s head jerked around to the wide green eyes still pinned on both him and Lunarre.

He hated the way Sorey clung to Alisha’s sleeves, mirroring now how she grasped his.

“Sorey, I—“

Slowly, Lunarre pulled forward. “Ah, and of _course_. Here they are:  my delightful prey in question. Lured and then delivered to me right on a silver platter. Really, I must thank you, Mikleo. You made this so much easier than it could’ve been…”

Sorey pushed himself to his feet as Lunarre wandered closer. He pulled a questioning and confused Alisha up with him and forced her to step behind him. His green eyes continually flickered between the approaching spirit and the one still hanging back. Alisha’s fingers dug into the back of Sorey’s shirt, her eyes staring out to the space in front of them blindly.

“Stop it,” Mikleo said; his voice came out half as strong as he wanted it to.

Lunarre hummed. “Now, what was it you were saying, Symonne, about this young man here?” His hum turned careful and questioning. He tilted his head to the side. “I couldn’t quite catch it over all of the shattering glass and screams from earlier…”

“ _Stop it_ ,” Mikleo repeated, with growing urgency.

He could feel more than see Symonne’s dark and cloying presence as she took shape in the shadows to his right. She had always been different than the rest of them at Camlann. Her abilities did not manifest in the traditional phantasmic manner, perhaps because she was not what one would consider a traditional ghost.

Mikleo had seen a few wandering and too-curious humans fall prey to her unique illusory talents.

He was staring at the translucent back of one of them.

“I was _saying_ ,” Symonne said, quiet and dry from the side. Standing in the darkest part of the shadows, she could easily have been overlooked; maybe that was the way she preferred it. “I think he’s a perfect candidate for what we were _discussing_ the other day. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Ah,” Lunarre purred and his eyes raked over Sorey. Mikleo’s gut flipped. “Yes…I think he’ll do quite nicely.”

“A perfect candidate for what…?” Sorey’s voice was wary and guarded.

“Oh, you needn’t worry about _that_.” Lunarre moved closer. “After all, I think you have far bigger things to worry about right now, like our little _chilling challenge_ we have been so kind as to give you.”

Immediately, Mikleo’s eyes snapped to the surrounding walls.

“As your friend told you, this chamber has no windows and no doors. So that begs the question:  how indeed are you going to find your way out…?”

There was a partition.

Mikleo didn’t know how he didn’t see it before but by some miracle, he did in that moment:  a small door deep in the wall, knee-high. Small enough to crawl through, if only it could be opened from their side. But when Mikleo pulled closer to it, he could see no knob and no latch from inside the coal chute.

If only he could—

“Of course…”

—but no. He wasn’t strong enough. When was the last time he had been able to lift and move something with greater weight and density than a damn _ketchup packet_?

The frustration and panic built high in his chest. If what Lunarre said was true, and the others were busy, dealing with the _seal_ that Gramps had told him never to touch…

…then that left one option.

_“Rose? Wait, is she here, too?”_

_“She’s in the van outside. She didn’t want to come in.”_

He looked to Sorey and Alisha with their backs to the wall, facing a prowling Lunarre and a lingering Symonne. He prayed that by some mercy, they would forgive him for abandoning them now.

“…there’s always _my_ way,” Lunarre rumbled.

As Mikleo turned to leave, chest squeezing tight, he could hear the screams begin.

* * *

Rose sighed, shifting against the back of the driver’s seat. Her eyes drifted to the digital clock on the center dashboard of the van.

“C’mon, Alisha…” she murmured with a pout. She slid lower, knees propped up against the bottom curve of the steering wheel. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Any year now. Just grab the guy and let’s go, yeah?”

What was taking her so long?

Another sigh drifted from the redhead. Lazily, she turned her head and let her gaze wander outside of the car and to the leaves she could see turning red and yellow high on the nearby trees. Her blue eyes followed the overgrown grass littered with weeds and dandelions up to the front door of the notorious Camlann Estate.

If she was honest, the place _still_ freaked her out, even from the security and distance of the company van parked on the gravel road leading up to the mansion.

Rose slid further down her seat as if that could obscure her from view of the estate.

It was then she saw it.

On a dirty window to the side of the door, with dust clinging to its surface so thick and cloudy it was impossible to see through, Rose watched faint and thin letters write onto the glass, as if someone was taking their finger and drawing words into the dust.

Mystified, she sat up and bent forward. Her eyes squinted at the message she could see slowly taking shape.

‘NEED HELP’

Rose blinked. Uncomfortably, she leaned back. “Yeah, okay…that’s a joke. _Not_ falling for that one.”

The letters continued, etched carefully and clearly onto the window.

‘PLEASE’

Rose let herself fall even further into her seat, her back curving at an awful angle. Her fingers clutched at her arms and turned white. “Still not falling for it guys. Nope. Try as hard as you want. I’m not budging. You can’t make me…“

Her voice drifted off as she watched with wide eyes the next words form on the lower window.

‘THEY NEED YOUR HELP’

…wait.

Rose’s heart skipped a beat in her chest.

‘SOREY’

Slowly, her hand drifted to the silver handle on the car door. Her fingertips felt oddly numb.

‘AND ALISH—‘

Rose was slamming the car door shut before the letters were finished.

She hurried up to the mansion. With jerky, shaky movements, she wrapped the lower edges of her jacket around her stomach and hugged herself to keep warm from the autumn chill.

The black handle of the front door was also cold to the touch.

Rose fought off the shiver that darted down her spine and before she could second-guess herself, she yanked the dark oak open anyway.

Her blue eyes darted up and down and left and right in the unlit hallway, taking in the floating dust and the deep crimson runner lying innocently against the wooden floorboards. She tried to ignore the way her stomach tied up in knots. There wasn’t a single person there, not even beside the window where the message was still visible.

Rose took a single and cautious step inside Camlann and let the door fall shut behind her.

“Oooooooooookay…” Rose’s voice wobbled. She rubbed her hands together and blew on them insistently. With a deep breath, she straightened to call out. “You happy? You win! I’m _inside the mansion_ , now!”

She paused, waiting. Every muscle in her body was stiff and tense.

Rose looked around her once more. She swung a bent arm before her chest, a sarcastic and half-hearted pump of good cheer. “You…you got me! Hardy-har; that’s so funny! Let’s all look…let’s all look how chicken _Rose_ is. Yeah, what a good one, guys! You really got me this time…”

A quiet voice, worried, came from her side. “...look, you don’t _get it_. I have to _try—_ they’re—h-hello? Hello, can you hear me?”

Accompanying it came a strangely familiar and exasperated sigh. “I told you. I’ve _tried._ She won’t—“

Rose screamed.

She scrunched her eyes up tight, curled away from both voices and squatted low to the ground. Her hands flew over her ears. Her whole body shook.

“…yeah, okay. I suppose that was fair.”

“Ah. Interesting.”

Rose screamed again, with more intensity. She curled up tighter, pressing herself harder into her knees.

“Agh! Okay, okay! We get it, we get it! You’re scared!”

“Can you blame her?”

“Yeah, well, guess what? _I’m_ scared, too! So…”

Rose screamed for a third time—until she stopped abruptly.

She sniffed.

Tentatively and despite herself, she lifted her head. “W-wait…a…a _ghost_ is _scared_ …?” she murmured in disbelief. The redhead looked behind her slowly, blue eyes scanning the hallway and media table pressed against the wall for a third time. Once again, she could see no one else with her.

It was just as she feared.

“Huh,” she murmured with more grudging amusement than she felt. “Gee, some…some kinda phantom you are…”

There was another sigh, this time from the voice that was less familiar and younger. “Yes. So I’ve _heard_.”

Rose pressed her trembling fingers hard into her jeans. “Okay. Yeah. Well…whatever. You freak me out. I just…” she took a shaky breath, “…l-look, which one of you…you guys is the one who wrote that note?”

“I am,” the younger voice responded. “I seem to be doing a lot of message-writing lately.”

“Look, I don’t care. I just want my girlfriend and my idiot friend back and safe, okay?” Rose took a breath that shook so hard her sternum ached. She pushed herself to a slow and careful stand. “If what you said is true, then they need help, right? So…then _I’ll_ be the help, I guess. I’ll get their dumb asses and then get out.”

“Good,” the spirit answered back, more soft and subdued. “You should get them as far away as possible from this place.”

“Can you show me where they are? Can you tell me what happened to them?”

There was a sigh and for a moment, Rose was struck by how strange that seemed to her:  that a being long-dead had used such a characteristically human form of body language even without a body.

“You won’t like it,” the young voice warned.

“Yeah, well, I don’t happen to like _any_ of this, so…that won’t change much.”

A pause.

Then the ghost said, “All right. Listen carefully. We need to move quickly…”

* * *

Sorey just wanted the horrific visions to stop.

He wanted them to stop.

He wanted it all to _stop_.

He didn’t want to _be here_ , with Alisha so worriedly clinging to his arm while the two cruel spirits laughed around him. The things they had made him _see_ , the things they had made him _listen to_ —he wished he could scrub them from his memory and the horrible way they stained the back of his mind.

He kept his forehead pressed to his knees and his hands clamped over his ears. His fingers dug into his hair and the sides of his head tightly.

“Sorey!” Alisha cried. Her hands shook his arm. He tried to breathe evenly, but he couldn’t get as much air out as he was so rapidly taking in. “Sorey, what’s going on? Please, _talk_ to me! What’s happening? What are they doing to you…?”

Sorey didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He didn’t think he wanted to. He just wanted it all to stop.

He wanted it all to stop.

He wanted it all to—

—sharply, the laughing drew to a halt.

Lunarre made an exaggerated sound of disappointment. “Aw, and right when it was just getting _good_.”

“ _Leave._ ”

When the new voice spoke, it was masculine, low, and with an aged rumble. Sorey had never heard this voice before, but there was something about it that was immediately calming, soothing, like a drifting cloud that covered a harsh, midday summer sun.

He felt more than saw the second presence that drew close before him, hovering right over his pulled-up knees. When it spoke, Sorey could identify it as another masculine entity.

“Hey…” the new spirit murmured, “…dude. You’re the one who can hear us, right?”

Sorey flinched. Tentatively, shaking, he nodded. He dared raise his head.

He saw faint green first before he could make out the odd, fuzzy outline of long hair lying around broad shoulders. The stranger had an intimidating face and sharp brow but when Sorey looked to him, a cocky grin appeared.

The spirit looked over his shoulder. “Oi. Yeah, he _can_ see and hear us. Guess Edna was telling the truth. Now, I owe Eizen even more shit…damn…”

Sorey’s wide green eyes trailed over the green-hinged spirit before him and to the white one he could see beyond, standing in the center of the chamber. Though he was short and appeared far older than any ghost Sorey had seen so far, it was clear to him that this on had an incredible presence. His shoulders were bent forward and what Sorey supposed would be his hands were pulled behind him to the small of his back.

Lunarre and Symonne were nowhere to be seen.

When the ghost looked behind him, Sorey swore his heart might have stopped. There was a rumbling storm in the spirit’s dark eyes.

Just….just who _was_ this guy…? 

There was a light.

Somewhere to Alisha and Sorey’s left, the light shone bright into the shadowed chamber and with it, both spirits immediately fled from view. Alisha held up her arm to shield her eyes.

A familiar voice called to them.

“Alisha! Sorey! Oi! You two in here?”

“ _Rose_!”

Sorey didn’t think he could remember hearing Alisha sound so relieved before.

“Oh, thank the _fucking_ Seraphim! Are you guys all right? Sorey _is_ in there with you, right?”

“Yes!” Alisha squeezed Sorey’s arm before she hurried over to the panel deep in the wall that Rose had opened up. She knelt and reached out for Rose’s hand. “At least—at least, I _think_ we’re all right! I’m all right. Sorey is—“

“—w-what is _this_? Alisha, your _hand_!”

“It was the glass—“

“—excuse me? The _glass_?“

“I’ll explain it all later, I promise! But please, we need to get out of here!”

“ _Ugh_ , right, right, haunted mansion and shit. Don’t remind me. Just grab the idiot and get your ass over here. We’re hightailing it to Ladylake and we are _not coming back_.”

Sorey didn’t know what to say to that.

Alisha came for him and helped his shaking form to the opening in the wall that Rose knelt just outside of. But as they were crossing the threshold, it was then Sorey saw him—hovering to the side, still lingering, even after the other spirits had gone.

His essence was colored a muted and mournful blue.

Sorey’s heart leapt. Without thinking, even with Alisha’s arm wrapped around his middle to help him towards the exit, he reached out a hand for him. “W-wait! Mikleo—“

But Mikleo shook his head. The ghost’s face wound tight with ache.

The last thing Sorey could hear him say, even from so far away, was a quiet and broken, “…I’m…I’m  _sorry…_ ”

And for the first time, Sorey wondered if it was possible for ghosts to cry.


End file.
